


I know words won’t be enough

by suzukiblu



Series: I'll give them shelter like you've done for me [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Jaskier | Dandelion, Alpha Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Double Penetration, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fuck Or Suffer Unspecified Health Consequences, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Penetrative Sex, Polyamory, Potions, Praise Kink, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: “I want you to help me heat partner Geralt,” Jaskier says, and Yennefer . . . pauses, and tilts her head.“Sorry?” she says.“You know how omega witchers are completely insatiable?” Jaskier says. “Yeah, that doesn’t really get more manageable when they’re in heat.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: I'll give them shelter like you've done for me [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630747
Comments: 206
Kudos: 2794
Collections: Polyamorous Relationships For the Win





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> By _extremely_ popular demand, the one where Yennefer shows up.

Yennefer of Vengerberg is not an easy alpha to find. It takes Jaskier . . . _so_ long. Every time he gets close to tracking her down, the trail goes ice-cold, which is what he gets for trying to find someone who can make portals on a whim while he's on foot. 

So of course, in the end, she's the one who finds _him_. 

"Jaskier," Yennefer says, smiling with her teeth in the expression. "That's an . . . _inventive_ outfit." 

"Look who's talking," he says, already resigned to burning this jacket. He'll never be able to wear it again without the constant creeping suspicion that it looks terrible on him. "You are extremely difficult to find, did you know that?" 

"Yes," she says, her smile widening. They're in a miserable little nowhere village where hopefully no one has been recently mind-controlled or anything like that and Yennefer is wearing a gorgeous black silk ensemble, because of course she is. They're surrounded by farmers and laypeople and Jaskier somehow feels underdressed. 

Well, he feels underdressed around Yennefer when she's _naked_ , so that's not really a surprise. 

"I wanted to ask you a favor," he says. She laughs, then raises her eyebrows at him. 

"Oh, wait, you're serious," she says, looking amused. “What on _earth_ do you think you have worth trading for a favor?” 

“Nothing, really,” Jaskier says. “That’s why it’s a favor and not a transaction.” 

“Oh?” she says, still looking amused. “Well, spit it out. I could use a laugh.” 

“I want you to help me heat partner Geralt,” Jaskier says, and Yennefer . . . pauses, and tilts her head. 

“Sorry?” she says. 

“You know how omega witchers are completely insatiable?” Jaskier says. “Yeah, that doesn’t really get more manageable when they’re in heat.” 

“He lets _you_ heat partner him?” Yennefer says, her lip curling. 

“Well, he let me do it once,” Jaskier says, putting his hands together behind his back and rocking back on his heels. And has never let Yennefer, to his knowledge, but he can be the bigger alpha and not mention that fact. “And we’re supposed to be meeting up for his next one. So yes?” 

“Amazing,” Yennefer says. She shakes her head. “Doesn’t he have better taste than that?” 

“Does either of us have room to be talking about Geralt’s taste in alphas, really?” Jaskier says. Yennefer snorts. 

“You’re not endearing me towards doing you any favors,” she says dryly. 

“It’s really less a favor for me and more for him,” Jaskier says. “I’m just fairly certain he’d literally never ask us for it, ever.” 

“You think he wants two alphas at once,” Yennefer says skeptically. “Seems like two alphas in one bed would get awfully territorial awfully quick.” 

“I’m not the territorial type,” Jaskier says with a shrug. Maybe it makes him the lesser alpha, but he’s not worried about sharing. Especially not if Geralt wants it. “I mean, I don’t exactly _like_ you, but if Geralt wants _any_ other alpha . . .” 

“If?” she says, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“Nothing,” Jaskier says. “It’d just be you, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Yennefer says. “And you’re not worried about fighting over who gets him every round?” 

“You _have_ slept with him before, yes?” Jaskier says. “There is more than enough omega to go around in that theoretical bed. We could take turns with him all night and he’d probably still be willing to go one more time.” 

“So you want to . . . _satisfy_ him,” Yennefer says.

"That was the general idea, yes," Jaskier says. Geralt more than deserves it, for one. For another . . . "It'd be something of a gift." 

"A gift?" Yennefer raises her eyebrows again. 

“We’re engaged. Technically,” Jaskier says, then taps his teeth meaningfully. Yennefer stares at him. 

“You and _Geralt_ ,” she says. “And he hasn’t had any . . . I don’t know, recent head injuries?” 

“I mean, probably,” Jaskier says. “It is Geralt.” 

"And you want me to come and be your _engagement_ present," Yennefer says. 

"That's the general idea, yes." 

_"Why?"_

"Because I think he'd like it?" Jaskier shrugs helplessly. "Not really sure what you're looking for here, honestly, I just want to do something nice for him and he's _very_ stubborn about letting me do that kind of thing." 

"What makes you think he'll let you do this, then?" Yennefer asks. 

"Nothing, really," Jaskier says with another shrug. "I'm just hoping sheer temptation wins him over." 

"A finely-crafted plan, I see," Yennefer says dryly. 

"I thought so." 

"You're an idiot," she says. "You think you’re going to just show up with me and he’ll be fine with that?” 

“I think he would be _very_ fine with that, actually, it’s just whether or not we can convince him it’s alright to actually _do_ it,” Jaskier says. “But I am determined to spoil that man past all reasonable measure, so I intend to.” 

“And if I say no?” Yennefer says. 

“Well, then I’m in a bit of a pickle,” Jaskier says. “You’re the only you, unfortunately. Well, normally I’d say _fortunately_ , but you get my point.” 

“Nominally,” Yennefer says dryly. 

“I’ll come up with something else if I have to,” Jaskier says slightly more confidently than he is perhaps feeling. Yennefer really _is_ the only Yennefer. He can’t show up with just any old alpha and expect Geralt to allow them into his heat nest. Otherwise he could just hire a whore, hell. 

. . . technically he supposes he _could_ hire a whore or two, actually, it’s not like Geralt hasn’t spent plenty of heats with whores. But that’s not _quite_ the vibe he’s going for here. 

“This idea wasn’t bad enough?” Yennefer says. 

“I’ve had worse ones,” Jaskier says with a shrug. “So, are you in?” 

“Give me one good reason,” she says, folding her arms. 

“Only?” Jasker says. “Because I’ve got at least four or five.” 

Yennefer snorts. Jaskier takes a bit of a chance. 

“You get to see Geralt in heat, what other reason do you need?” he says reasonably. It is a bit of a gamble, but it’d work on _him_ , for sure. 

“Hm,” Yennefer says. 

“And get to see him _satiated_ , if this works,” Jaskier adds. 

“Hm,” she says again. 

He waits patiently, which is admittedly not his strong suit. Yennefer seems to be mulling it over with at least _some_ interest, though. 

“I’d need to do some prep work,” she says finally, grudgingly, and Jaskier immediately seizes upon the opportunity. 

“That’s more than fine, it’s still almost two weeks out,” he says. “Assuming two weeks is enough time, anyway?” 

“Barely,” she says. “But yes.” 

Jaskier cannot _imagine_ what would take her two weeks. New outfit, maybe? Can’t she just magic those? 

“But I am _not_ staying in some dingy little inn for it,” Yennefer says, which is a bit more of a concern. Dammit. 

“Well . . . how far can those portals go?” Jaskier says. 

“Far enough,” she says. 

“Then I know just the place,” he says. “You’d have to give us a ride from the dingy little inn we’re meeting at, though, I don’t think I’ve got time to find Geralt and adjust the plan.” 

“Do I have to do everything around here?” Yennefer says, looking annoyed. 

“At least this one thing,” Jaskier says, and she rolls her eyes, and then they make their plans. Yennefer remains dubious for the process, but Jaskier figures if she backs out he and Geralt can always stick with the original plan, and he’ll figure out a proper engagement present _next_ time. Geralt’s not exactly going to complain if he doesn’t show up with one. 

He really rather would, of course. Obviously. 

They go their separate ways. Jaskier goes to the tavern to see if he can’t earn a little coin while he’s in town, and Yennefer goes off to . . . well, do prep work, presumably. Or mind control somebody. 

Who knows, it’s _Yennefer_. 

Two weeks isn’t much time, either way, and Jaskier finds himself outside that dingy little inn soon enough. Hopefully he’s arrived before Geralt; he doesn’t want the other wasting coin on a room they might not need. Hopefully won’t, anyway. 

He could wait inside, probably, but he’s not that patient. He just hopes Geralt won’t be late again. They put in a bit of padding time just in case, but Geralt’s luck is . . . not great, put it that way. Also, his heat could’ve come _early_ , which would be its own problem, or—

Alright, he’s fussing a bit. He should stop doing that. Smelling like worry when Geralt shows up wouldn’t exactly be a come-on. 

He checks with the barmaid to see if Geralt’s been here yet—he’s hard to miss, obviously—and after she tells him he hasn’t, he heads back outside to hurry up and wait. He probably should’ve asked about Yennefer too but it’s not like _she’d_ rent a room, so he’s not really worried about it. Besides, Yennefer tends to make an entrance, in his experience. He’ll probably notice her showing up. 

Or she’ll sneak up on him and laugh at him. That might happen too. 

He’s really not sure which of them to expect first, but in the end, it’s Geralt who turns up leading Roach down the street. 

"Geralt!" Jaskier lights up, because Geralt is definitely worth lighting up over, and hurries ahead to meet him. Geralt lets him wrap his arms around him and even tucks his nose into his neck in return, inhaling quietly. He smells even better than usual, though at the same time he could use a bath to get the scent of dirt and horse off him. "I was just wondering when you'd show up." 

"You could've waited inside," Geralt says, putting a hand on his hip. Jaskier nuzzles him. 

"Ah, but this way I saw you sooner," he says with a laugh. "How was the journey?" 

"Unprofitable," Geralt says. Jaskier snorts. 

"When do you _ever_ make a profit?" 

"Hn." 

Jaskier nuzzles him again, determined to see him as effectively scented as possible. Geralt leans into it just enough to be noticeable, and Jaskier feels warm all over. He resists the urge to tug the other's gloves off and see if he's wearing the bracelet. He'll find out soon enough either way. 

"Did you get a room yet?" Geralt asks, and Jaskier leans back and debates how to answer that. 

"Well, technically no," he says. "But also yes?" 

Geralt just _looks_ at him. Jaskier smiles sheepishly. 

"We should eat first, maybe," he says. "I . . . have something to tell you?"

"What's wrong," Geralt says immediately. 

"Nothing!" Jaskier waves his hands between them. Paranoid bastard. He adores Geralt, but really, the other always jumps to the worst conclusion. "Nothing's wrong, I promise. I just arranged something but I'm not sure it's going to happen, still." 

"Arranged what?" Geralt asks suspiciously. 

"Something nice," Jaskier says, reaching up to cup the other's face with one hand and giving him a wryly fond look. "You adorably neurotic creature. Worrying too much is bad for you, you know." 

"I'm not worried," Geralt lies, the lying liar. Jaskier smiles at him. Geralt's hand is still on his hip, a soft point of prolonged contact, and he appreciates the weight of its presence almost as much as he appreciates the sign that Geralt's feeling a bit of what he's feeling. 

" _Have_ you eaten?" he says. 

"No," Geralt says. Jaskier catches his hands in his own and tugs him towards the inn. 

"Then let's remedy that," he says, squeezing the other's hands. Geralt doesn't squeeze back, but his grip is tight and makes Jaskier feel _wanted_ in a way very few things can. 

They stable Roach and go inside; they order food and ale and sit in an out of the way corner. Jaskier still feels warm, and warmer still because Geralt's ankle is pressed against his under the table. He didn't do it on purpose, but maybe Geralt did. Either way, it's nice. 

They eat, thick stew and dry bread and respectable ale, and Jaskier debates how to bring up the Yennefer thing in a way that won't let Geralt deny himself something nice. It's very hard to keep Geralt from denying himself something nice. He specializes in the practice. 

"I got you an engagement present," he says finally. "Or I tried to, anyway, it may still fall through." 

"I told you that you didn't need to," Geralt says, frowning. 

"And I told you I was going to anyway," Jaskier counters easily. The bracelet really _wasn't_ meant to be an engagement gift, and Geralt deserves far more than the bare minimum. "Anyway, I think you'll like it." 

"I don't need anything," Geralt says. 

"It's Yennefer," Jaskier says, folding his arms on the table. 

". . . what." 

"I invited Yennefer to your heat, if you want her," Jaskier says. "Like I said before, so we can take care of you."

"That was heat talk," Geralt says, his voice blank. 

"I do recall telling you I didn't subscribe to the practice of lying during heats," Jaskier reminds him. "I don't _do_ 'heat talk'." 

"You don't even _like_ Yennefer," Geralt says. 

"You do," Jaskier says simply. Geralt . . . frowns, slowly. 

"I don't understand," he says. 

"It seemed like a good idea," Jaskier says. "I know you were uncomfortable last time, I couldn't really keep up." 

"And that doesn't bother you?" Geralt says. "You'd really be fine with me letting another alpha partner me?" 

"Yyyyes?" Jaskier says, cocking his head doubtfully. "I mean, I did suggest it to begin with. Don't typically go around suggesting things I wouldn't be fine with. Not a _great_ plan, that." 

"Alphas don't do that," Geralt says. 

"Which part?" Jaskier says. "Because I don't really get what's bothering you. Do you _not_ want her there, because I'm not going to sulk if you don't. I can think of a better gift." 

"I don't understand," Geralt says again. Jaskier still isn't sure which part needs explaining. 

"I'm trying to take care of you," he says. "If I can't do it alone, the best thing I can do is get help." 

"Two alphas in one bed just sounds like a problem," Geralt says. 

"We're not really worried about it," Jaskier says. "We talked about it." 

" _Talked_ about it," Geralt says. 

" _Do_ you want her there?" Jaskier says. 

Geralt doesn't say anything. Given his usual approach to wanting things, Jaskier can't help suspecting that's a "yes". 

Geralt needs to actually _say_ it, though. Just assuming isn't going to work. 

"It's alright if you do," Jaskier says. "Obviously. You could use more pack, I'm not going to hold that against you. Hell, I won't even hold it against Yennefer." 

"I don't need a pack," Geralt says. 

"What do you think we are, Geralt?" Jaskier says. He really _hates_ whoever convinced Geralt that he doesn't deserve the things he wants. "After all this time?" 

"Mm," Geralt says, which, obviously, isn't an answer. Jaskier's not sure how to take it. What _does_ Geralt think they are, if not pack? What does he think when Jaskier brings him little gifts and puts his teeth in his neck and does his best to take care of him? 

What else _could_ he think? 

"You're pack to me," Jaskier says firmly, reaching across the table to grip Geralt's forearm and squeeze it. "The only pack I really have, to be honest." 

"What?" Geralt says. 

"Did you not know that?" Jaskier tilts his head. "It's just you. It's been just you for a very long time now." 

Geralt doesn't say anything. Jaskier waits, but it doesn't seem to help. 

Well. It's Geralt. He wasn't expecting any grand declarations. 

"I didn't know," Geralt says finally, quietly, and Jaskier decides that'll have to be good enough. 

"I suppose I could've mentioned it a little more explicitly," he says with a shrug. "I just thought it was obvious." 

"Hn," Geralt says. He looks at his plate. Jaskier squeezes his arm again and lets go, and Geralt's eyes flick towards his hand as it recedes across the table. Jaskier wonders what it would take to get him to say more than that. 

But it's Geralt, of course, and he can't expect him to be something he's not. 

"You really do need to decide about Yennefer before she actually shows up, though," Jaskier says, and with unerring timing, Geralt’s eyes flick towards the door. “Ah. Speak of the devil.” 

“Jaskier,” Yennefer says with a sardonic smile as she approaches their little corner. She’s carrying a small bag and wearing a very dark purple coat that looks like it cost a king’s ransom and probably got magicked up this morning. “Geralt. You smell _divine_. Under all the dirt, anyway.” 

“Yennefer,” Geralt says neutrally. 

“Yes, that’s role call taken care of, then,” Jaskier says. Yennefer smirks at him. 

“Nice jacket,” she says. 

“I happen to think so,” Jaskier grumbles, adjusting the lay of said jacket self-consciously. Is she determined to ruin his _entire_ wardrobe? 

“What’s the verdict?” Yennefer says. “Did I come all this way for nothing, or . . .?” 

“You can _make portals_ ,” Jaskier snorts. “This is a minor inconvenience to you at best.” 

“You didn’t come all this way for nothing,” Geralt says quietly. Jaskier perks up reflexively, and Yennefer smiles with her teeth. 

“Oh good,” she says casually, slinging her bag over her shoulder and offering Geralt a hand. “Glad to hear it.” 

Geralt glances at Jaskier, just for a moment, then takes Yennefer’s hand and gets to his feet. She kisses the back of his hand, then leads him back out the front door, Jaskier following right behind them. 

“Shall we fetch Roach?” Yennefer asks. “It’s not going to be a long trip, but I don’t know that you’ll want to leave her here.” 

“We’re going somewhere?” Geralt says with a frown as they head towards the stable, glancing back at Jaskier again. 

“Er, yes,” Jaskier says, feeling self-conscious again. “Yennefer didn’t really want to den down in an inn and, well, I can see her point about that. If you don’t like it we can go somewhere else, though. Obviously.” 

“Where is it?” Geralt says, still frowning. 

“Redania,” Jaskier says. Geralt’s frown deepens. 

“What the hell’s in Redania?” he says. 

“Er,” Jaskier says. “Well. My home.” 

Geralt gives him a blank look. Jaskier smiles back sheepishly. In his defense, he’s _fairly_ sure he’s mentioned that before. You know. A few years back, give or take. 

It’s hard to tell when Geralt’s actually paying attention sometimes, alright? 

They retrieve Roach, Yennefer opens a portal, and they step through onto the lands of Jaskier’s family’s estate. He’d sent word that they’d be coming, of course, but who knows if said word actually had time to arrive. It’d had a fair distance to go. 

“This way,” he says, and leads the way down the path towards the house. Geralt and Yennefer are still holding hands, which he thinks bodes well for the quality of his engagement present but also might just be an early heat symptom settling in. He’s never entirely sure, with Geralt. The other touches him, yes, and obviously touches Yennefer, and he _seems_ to want to do it more than he does, but . . . 

Well, Jaskier can’t assume. Geralt does as he pleases, and he’ll take what he can get. 

They crest a small hill, and his parents’ home looms at the end of the path ahead. Yennefer hums; Geralt exhales. 

“Bigger than I thought it’d be,” Yennefer says. 

“I didn’t expect you to have thought about it,” Jaskier says. 

“Oh? I find it’s best to think, myself,” Yennefer says, smirking at him, and Jaskier scowls back at her. Well, she’s as difficult as ever. But he knew that getting into this, of course. 

“They might not be expecting us,” he says. “I sent word, but you know . . . that’s only so reliable. And it had a ways to go, too.” 

“And they’re willing to host us?” Geralt says warily, eyeing the house. Valid question, Jaskier supposes, though really not a concern. 

“My parents won't be here this time of year,” he says with a shrug. “And I am certainly willing to host you, myself.” 

"Mm." Geralt looks ahead to the house. Jaskier wonders if he likes it, but assumes not. Geralt's not generally impressed by that kind of thing. Or ever, really. 

Well, he's not really trying to impress him like that, so that's fine. 

They head along to the house, and it turns out that no, no one was expecting them. Jaskier feels a little bad putting the servants in a tizzy, but he did _try_ to send word. A bit last-minute, admittedly, but he did try. 

Anyway, they're professionals. They can handle it. The stablehands take Roach to the stable and the cook gets dinner going and the maids prepare Jaskier's rooms for proper human habitation, and everyone is very subtle about sneaking curious peeks at Geralt and Yennefer. He does not, admittedly, make a habit of bringing people home. Or coming home himself, really. 

The steward takes a moment to inform him of all sorts of things he doesn't care about, but he listens because something important might be in there. It's not, but better safe than sorry. 

He asks for a bath to be prepared, then returns his attention to Geralt and Yennefer. 

"Sorry about the fuss," he says. "Shall we?" 

"Somehow this is exactly the sort of place I should’ve pictured you growing up in," Yennefer muses, looking around the courtyard. 

“Well, it’s a place, anyway,” Jaskier says, not really sure how to take that. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when Yennefer’s insulting someone versus just making an observation. Since a fair amount of her observations are scathing, there’s a bit of overlap in there. “My great-grandparents built it, apparently. The paternal ones, I mean. Obviously not _all_ of them.” 

“Obviously, yes,” Yennefer says dryly. 

“No one else is here?” Geralt says, glancing around too, though warily in his case. 

“I’m sure the servants would’ve mentioned if anyone was,” Jaskier says with a shrug. He doesn’t see why they wouldn’t have, anyway. 

“What universe gave _you_ of all people servants?” Yennefer snorts. 

“Not this one,” Jaskier says. “They work for my parents. I am but the prodigal son, rarely if ever to return.” 

“What happens when your parents die, then?” Yennefer says. 

“I close the place up and write a lot of letters of recommendation,” Jaskier says with a shrug. At least, that’s always been his plan. It was bad enough growing up here, damned if he intends to _die_ here. He does alright for himself. He doesn’t need all this. 

“Seems like a waste,” Yennefer says. 

“Well, it’s not as if any of us are going to have pups,” Jaskier says reasonably. “And what else use would this much space be?” 

“You might have pups,” Geralt says. 

“That seems very unlikely,” Jaskier says. Even if he _weren’t_ mating Geralt, he’s never particularly considered himself the fatherly type, nor particularly wanted to. “Probably for the best, really, can you _imagine_ how dreadful I’d be at it?” 

“Vividly,” Yennefer agrees. Somehow even agreeing with him she manages to annoy him, but for obvious reasons Jaskier swallows his pride on the issue. The only one of them who might ever have a pup is Geralt, and the princess of Cintra isn’t going to be a pup too much longer, by his math. Also, she’s the _princess_ of _Cintra_. She hardly needs a Redanian viscount’s estate. 

“Not really,” Geralt says. 

“Well, extrapolate,” Jaskier says, gesturing at himself meaningfully. “About the only thing I can do for a pup is sing a lullaby or tell a story. And they don’t really fit the lifestyle, obviously.” 

“Mm,” Geralt says. 

“I suppose it would be a nice place for a pup to grow up,” Yennefer says, looking around the courtyard again assessingly. Possibly she’s considering stealing it. Jaskier really doesn’t care, so doesn’t worry about it. 

“Depends on who they’re growing up with, I think,” he says. He mostly remembers being lonely, himself. Things are much better now. “Do you want a nest this time, Geralt?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Geralt says. 

“I’ll make it while you’re in the bath, then,” Jaskier says. 

“Make it?” Yennefer gives him a quizzical look. Geralt grimaces. 

“I make the nests,” Jaskier says like it’s a perfectly normal thing, because for them it _is_ perfectly normal so he might as well treat it that way. “You can help, I suppose.” 

“You’re joking,” Yennefer says. 

“Not even slightly,” Jaskier says. “Is it alright if Yennefer helps me, Geralt?” 

“. . . fine,” Geralt says, which almost definitely means “yes, _please_ ”. Jaskier raises his eyebrows at Yennefer meaningfully; she looks baffled. 

“Fortunately my bed should be big enough for a nest that’ll fit the three of us,” he says. “Might’ve been a bit of an issue if we’d gone with the inn, come to think of it, though I suppose we could’ve pushed two beds together if we’d needed to?” 

“Why is your bed that big?” Geralt says with a frown. 

“So it’s big enough for a nest that’ll fit the three of us, keep up, Geralt,” Jaskier says. “Honestly, do you even listen when I talk?” 

“I listen,” Geralt says, his frown deepening, and Jaskier immediately feels flustered. 

“Well, there you go, then,” he says inanely. “Here, come on, let’s get you to the bath. You look like you got dragged through the dirt.” 

“I did,” Geralt says, which—of course he did, Jaskier thinks. 

“You’re not much better, Jaskier,” Yennefer says. 

“On the contrary, I got dragged through nothing whatsoever,” Jaskier says primly. He probably _could_ use a quick washing up, admittedly, but he doesn’t need an entire bath to do it in. Geralt can take his time, and he’ll just scrub up quick with a pitcher and basin and then move onto building the nest, as obviously the more important concern. 

He shows Geralt to the bathing room, then takes Yennefer and heads for his own rooms. They probably won't be up to Yennefer's standards, but even she won't be able to say they're not an improvement on an inn. 

“I think I’ve stayed in nicer inns,” Yennefer says, eyeing said rooms critically. Jaskier sighs. Of course, he thinks. 

“Forgive my seventeen year-old self’s decorating sensibilities,” he says dryly. 

“Seventeen?” Yennefer says skeptically. 

“That’s about how long it’s been since I’ve been here longer than a fortnight, so yes,” Jaskier says. “Actually, a fortnight might be pushing it.” 

“Not much of a viscount, are you,” she says, and he shrugs and scrubs up like there’s nothing awkward about taking his clothes off in front of Yennefer, then re-dresses and heads over to the nicely made-up bed and the spare linens stacked beside it, ready to ruin all the maids’ careful work. The bed smells a bit like them, which doesn’t bother him but might bother Geralt, and he wants to get as much of his and Yennefer’s scents over it as possible. 

“Here, come give me a hand,” he says, unfolding one of the bigger blankets. “Geralt’ll like it better if it smells like us and not the maids.” 

“I have no idea how to build a nest,” Yennefer says. 

“You don’t have to, you just have to get your scent on it,” Jaskier says. “I can do the actual building. I’m getting fairly good at it, actually, I’ve been practicing.” 

_“Practicing,”_ Yennefer says incredulously, but comes over. Jaskier drapes the blanket over her shoulders like a cloak, then unfolds another to rub his face against the fabric. “You look ridiculous.” 

“Would you rather Geralt heat up in a nest that smells like us, or like my parents’ servants?” he asks pointedly. Yennefer huffs, but rubs the scent glands in her wrists along the edges of the blanket she’s wearing. 

“Why doesn’t Geralt make the nests?” she says. 

“He doesn’t nest,” Jaskier says, moving onto the next blanket. 

“. . . because _why_?” Yennefer says, looking exasperated. Jaskier layers another blanket on top of her, figuring if she’s just going to stand there she could at least do a bit more scenting. 

“It’s Geralt,” he says. “How often does he do nice things for himself?” 

“Not enough,” Yennefer says. 

“Exactly,” Jaskier says. “So I make the nests.” 

Yennefer frowns. Jaskier scents the last blanket, then throws himself onto the bed and rolls around a bit. She snorts at him. 

“You _could_ be helping,” he says meaningfully. 

“And you could be more dignified,” she says. 

“Unlikely.” Jaskier rolls off the bed. Yennefer snorts at him again, setting her little bag on the nightstand and then scenting the pillows via fluffing them. Jaskier glances curiously at the bag, wondering what’s inside it—it’s too small for clothes, and besides that it clinked when she set it down—and then dismisses it as irrelevant and gets back to the process of nesting. More important things to worry about and all. 

He makes the base of the nest with the pillows and blankets that smell like Yennefer and builds up the sides with the ones that smell like him. It’s not a perfect mingling or a perfect nest, but it definitely doesn’t smell like the maids anymore. 

“You’re actually not horrible at this,” Yennefer says grudgingly as she watches him work. “For an alpha, anyway.” 

“I’d say thank you but I don’t feel like that was an actual compliment,” Jaskier says, carefully shaping the sides of the nest into respectability. He really has been practicing. He got tips a few times, and he even paid a couple of omega whores to teach him their personal methods. Long story short, this is a _vast_ improvement on his first few attempts at nesting. 

He still goes with sturdiness over aesthetic, since it’s for Geralt, but it’s nice to have a few more techniques up his sleeve and all. 

“Are there more pillows somewhere?” Yennefer says speculatively. 

“Should be some cushions in the trunk,” Jaskier says, jerking his head towards the trunk at the foot of his bed. Yennefer heads over to it and flips it open, and hums to herself as she pulls out one of the cushions. “And there’s a couple on the chaise, of course.” 

“Of course,” Yennefer says wryly as she carefully scents the pillow she’s holding, then tosses it into the middle of the nest. 

Jaskier arranges the tossed pillow neatly by the side, and they repeat the process until the trunk and the chaise are both completely stripped of cushions and the bed’s been turned into a rather nice nest, if Jaskier does say so himself. It’s probably the best one he’s built so far. 

“Well, it’ll do,” Yennefer says with a sigh, hands on her hips. Jaskier makes a face at her. 

“Sorry, what was that?” he says, holding a hand to his ear. “‘What a lovely nest, Jaskier’? ‘Marvelous work, Jaskier’? ‘Geralt will love it, Jaskier’?” 

“At least it’s big enough to fit us all,” Yennefer says. “Probably.” 

“ _Probably_ , she says,” Jaskier grumbles huffily, folding his arms. As if he doesn’t know _exactly_ how many people this bed can fit. Honestly. “Give me your coat, let me put that in too.” 

“Why, so we can get it filthy?” Yennefer says witheringly. 

“So it’ll _smell_ right. Anyway, I refuse to believe magic can’t handle that problem,” Jaskier says as he holds out an expectant hand. Yennefer rolls her eyes, but shrugs out of her long and lovely coat all the same. The outfit beneath it is, unsurprisingly, extremely well-made. Or well-magicked. Whichever. 

She looks gorgeous in it, obviously, and as usual, does make an alpha feel a bit underdressed. 

Well, they’ll all be naked soon enough. Not like that precludes feelings of being underdressed around Yennefer, but all the same. 

Jaskier carefully tucks Yennefer’s coat in along the lining of the nest, then does the same with his jacket on the other side. He’d add more of their clothes, honestly, but they _do_ have to be decent to go retrieve Geralt from the bathing room; not like he knows the way here himself. He could probably scent them out if it came to it, being Geralt, but leaving him to do that feels rude. 

“Well?” Yennefer says. “Are you done?” 

“I think so?” Jaskier says, adjusting one last pillow. “Either way we should probably go get Geralt before he dissolves into the bathwater.” 

“Yes, that would be for the best,” Yennefer says dryly, and they head back into the hall together. Jaskier leads the way, since he has no idea if Yennefer remembers it, though it’s not very far. 

He knocks on the door, Geralt grunts assentingly, and Jaskier takes that as an invitation and lets them into the room. Geralt is soaking in the tiled bath, smelling delicious and looking attractively flushed in the steam. Jaskier wants to lick him. 

“Don’t you clean up well,” Yennefer says approvingly, looking Geralt over. 

“You say that like you haven’t seen him cleaned up plenty of times,” Jaskier says, fetching a towel for him and bringing it over. Geralt accepts it somewhat grudgingly and stands up. Jaskier feels a bit fluttery, mostly because he’s just noticed the other’s wearing the silver bracelet and he is _very_ happy about that. 

“And yet every time remains a pleasant surprise,” Yennefer says, then raises her eyebrows at the bracelet. “Is that a flower?” 

“Hn,” Geralt says. 

“Is that a _buttercup_?” Yennefer says incredulously. Geralt disappears beneath the towel, putting up the illusion of drying his hair. _“Geralt.”_

“It was a gift,” Geralt mutters. 

“You’ve been giving him courting gifts?” Yennefer asks Jaskier, who gives her an offended look in return. 

“Of course I have, I’ve been _courting_ him, haven’t I?” he says. “What, do you not give people courting gifts when you’re courting them?” 

“I don’t court people,” Yennefer says. 

“Well, I do,” Jaskier says, offering Geralt another towel and smiling when the other accepts it. “Specifically Geralt, in this case.” 

“I cannot believe you actually got him to wear that,” Yennefer says, shaking her head. “What did _that_ take?" 

“Um, giving it to him?” Jaskier says, a little offended by the question. He's happy that Geralt wears it, at least to see him, but it's not the kind of thing he'd have _wheedled_ him into doing. It makes him feel better about not always being around to scent him, and he hopes it makes Geralt feel the same. That's the point of it. "Do you have any idea how courting works?" 

"As little as possible," Yennefer says frankly. 

"Of course," Jaskier says dubiously, and she snorts at him. 

"It's just a bracelet," Geralt says, stepping out of the bath. 

"So that's the only thing he's given you?" Yennefer says. Geralt looks awkward. "Oh, _Geralt_. I didn't know you were such a soft touch." 

"It's just a bracelet," Geralt repeats stiffly. 

"It's a sign of my affection, actually," Jaskier says with slight exasperation. He's gone to quite a lot of effort getting Geralt to accept nice things and only had so much success; he does _not_ need Yennefer enabling a backwards slide. "I adore him, and I like telling him that." 

"You can't just say 'I adore you'?" Yennefer drawls, raising an eyebrow at him. Jaskier scowls at her. 

"I can't very well say it when I'm not there, can I?" he says. "Something has to be around to pick up the slack." 

"And you chose a _flower_ charm for that," Yennefer says. 

"Yes," Jaskier says. He can't scent Geralt when he's not around, so he just does the best he can in the meantime. A silver flower, a pretty bottle of perfume or little bar of soap—whatever he thinks might work. Whatever might give Geralt the feeling of _pack_ , no matter how briefly. 

That's the point, after all. 

"Well, aren't you two just precious," Yennefer says wryly. 

"We're pack," Jaskier says, and a strange look crosses her face. Jaskier can't quite place what it means. "That is the point of this, you realize." 

"One pair doesn't make much of a pack," Yennefer says. 

". . . Yennefer," Jaskier says, staring incredulously at her. "Geralt is about to go into heat and you are literally _in the room_. Is that not a blatant enough invitation for you?" 

Yennefer stares back at him blankly. Jaskier throws his hands up. 

"You're as bad as Geralt," he says accusingly. 

"Pack isn't meant for people like us," Geralt says quietly as he—regrettably, but necessarily—pulls his pants and shirt back on. 

"I don't see why not," Jaskier says. "It's not like we're settling down or anything like that. Why can't we be a pack?" 

"It just doesn't work," Geralt says. 

"Huh," Yennefer says, looking at him wonderingly. "You actually want it, don't you." 

Geralt stiffens, then sets his jaw. He doesn't say anything. 

_"Huh,"_ Yennefer says. 

"We don’t have to," Jaskier says. “But we could.” 

Geralt still doesn’t say anything. Yennefer doesn’t either, just looking bemusedly at him. Jaskier sighs. 

“In the meantime, we’ve got other concerns,” he says. “Obviously. How do you feel, Geralt?” 

“I’m fine,” Geralt says, which is as useless a reply as always. Jaskier _dreams_ of the day Geralt will admit to being anything but “fine” to him. 

One day, he promises himself, and opens the door for the other two. 

“After you,” he says with a little bow. 

“This from the man who’s supposed to be showing us the way,” Yennefer says wryly as she sweeps past him. Jaskier makes a face at her, and she laughs. Geralt follows after her, his eyes only briefly catching Jaskier’s. There’s something exposed in them, which is probably why. It makes Jaskier want to sing him to sleep. 

“I can multitask,” he says, following the other two out and gesturing down the hall back towards his rooms before leading them down it. Geralt comes first, and Yennefer makes a surprised little noise. 

“Your neck,” she says, and Geralt covers the bare remnants of Jaskier’s last bond bite self-consciously. Jaskier can’t even find it in himself to be huffy about it. 

“I did mention we were engaged,” he says. 

“You said _technically_ ,” Yennefer says. 

“Yes, and?” Jaskier says. She frowns, just briefly, then looks at Geralt’s neck again. 

“I assumed you weren’t the type for bond bites,” she says. 

“You never asked,” Geralt says. 

“Fair,” Yennefer says. Jaskier resists the urge to sigh at them and opens the door to his rooms. You’d think all the extra lifetime would help a person sort themselves out, but no, apparently not. 

“For you,” he says, gesturing at the nest. “If you like it.” 

“It’s—” Geralt starts reflexively, and Jaskier can already _hear_ the “fine”, but then . . . pauses, and walks over to it. “It’s big.” 

“Well, there are three of us this time,” Jaskier says. “Don’t want anyone falling out, do we?” 

“You’re both going to be in it,” Geralt says. 

“Well . . . yes?” Jaskier says, mystified by the question. “That’s the point, isn’t it?” 

“I’m fairly sure most other alphas would take turns in the nest,” Yennefer says, as, Jaskier supposes, the resident expert on sex with multiple partners. He’s managed to bed two omegas at once a time or two, but he’s never arranged an entire _orgy_. 

“That seems impractical,” he says anyway, because it does. They’re supposed to be helping each other out, after all, and that’s hardly going to work if they’re not both in the nest. 

“You really aren’t territorial at all, are you,” Yennefer says. 

“If I were territorial, I’d be running this place,” Jaskier says. He’s never really seen the point, personally. “And I’d probably sleep with fewer mated people too.” 

“I always assumed that was a dominance behavior,” Yennefer says. 

“No, that’s an ‘I don’t care about other alphas’ opinions’ behavior,” Jaskier says, and she snorts. 

“You?” she drawls. “Would never have guessed.” 

“Not my problem what other people think,” Jaskier says with a shrug. As he recalls, in fact, Yennefer was one of the multitude of people who assumed Geralt was the alpha upon first meeting them, and he’s fairly certain she didn’t realize otherwise until she got him in the bath—at the _earliest_. And she’s a damn _mage_. The normal person on the street? Always going to make the wrong assumption about him, one way or the other. 

Basically, if Jaskier cared what other people thought he’d be spending his whole life correcting them, and who wants to waste time on that nonsense? 

“It’s your problem when they take offense and try to kill you,” Geralt says dryly. 

“Well, that’s why I’m a very fast runner,” Jaskier says. “It’s good for me. Keeps me young. _Is_ the nest alright?” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, not even looking at it. Jaskier clearly needs to improve his nesting skills. 

“If you’re sure,” he says. “We could build it bigger, if you’d rather.” 

“There’s not _room_ to build it bigger,” Geralt says. 

“We’d figure something out,” Jaskier assures him. 

“Hn,” Geralt says, and sits down gingerly in the nest. Jaskier’s alpha instincts flutter with pride and pleasure at the sight. 

“Do you need anything?” Yennefer asks. Geralt looks a little surprised by the question. 

“No,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a familiar-looking and much-despised little potion bottle. “I have everything I need.” 

“Wait wait wait,” Jaskier says quickly, holding his hands up. “What’s _that_ for?” 

Geralt frowns at him. 

“So no one will bother me,” he says. 

“We’re not on the road this time,” Jaskier points out. “Also, Yennefer is _far_ more deterrent to anyone bothering you than that miserable little potion could ever be.” 

“. . . oh,” Geralt says slowly, just looking at the bottle. He looks uncomfortable. 

“I mean, obviously if you want to take it, go right ahead,” Jaskier says. “But you _really_ don’t need to.” 

“My scent wouldn’t be masked,” Geralt says, his eyes flickering to him. 

“I would not mind that, personally,” Jaskier says. “I would actually in fact _love_ that.” 

“What’s it do?” Yennefer says, frowning at the bottle. 

“Makes his pheromones smell like death, far as I can tell,” Jaskier says. “Also makes it very hard to tell when his heat’s rising.” 

“It’s safer on the road,” Geralt says, which Jaskier assumes means “safer for idiots who think other people’s heats are an invitation”. “Every omega witcher takes it.” 

“Well, we’re not on the road, so there’s no reason for you to smell like death,” Yennefer says disdainfully, stepping over to him and putting a fingertip on top of the bottle to push it down. “I didn’t come all this way to smell a potion instead of your heat.” 

“I always take it,” Geralt says, frowning at them. 

“You don’t have to, is the point,” Jaskier puts in, because yes, if Geralt’s more comfortable taking the potion, fine, but if it’s just that he just feels like he _should_ . . . “No one is going to bother us here, except maybe to leave food outside the door. Which, well, I did ask them to do that, but I could always just go to the kitchen myself if you don’t want any strangers coming that close.” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says with a strange expression. Jaskier is not convinced. 

“Really,” he says. “It’s no bother for me. Yennefer will be with you, after all.” 

“Hn,” Geralt says, and leans over to set the potion aside on the nightstand. It clinks as he sets it down, and the noise reminds Jaskier of Yennefer’s bag, sitting innocuously beside it. He wonders about its contents again. 

“Good,” Yennefer says as she steps forward and opens the bag, so maybe she heard that, or saw it, or maybe he just has very good timing. She pulls two smoked-glass bottles out of it and holds one out to Jaskier, who takes it automatically and gives it a quizzical look. 

“What’s this?” he says. 

“A potion,” Yennefer says with a wry smile. “Don’t drink it yet.” 

“I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to,” Jaskier says. “What’s it do?” 

“It’s . . . a trick, essentially,” she says. “It’ll make your body think you’re rutting.” 

“Huh.” Jaskier tips his head. “And yours?” 

“Same thing,” she says. “It’s not a _real_ rut, of course, nobody’s getting mated off it, but it’ll function more or less the same as one.” 

“Why did you bring those?” Geralt says, frowning, and Yennefer smiles at him with her teeth. 

“I was invited to see you _satisfied_ ,” she says, and his eyes just barely widen as his pheromones spike. 

“Well,” Jaskier says, clearing his throat as he eyes the little bottle in his hand. “That sounds useful.” 

“I was already thinking about getting it for the next time I saw you,” Yennefer tells Geralt casually. “Seemed natural to bring it to a heat.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Geralt says. He’s just barely tense, and staring at the bottles. There’s something hungry in his scent. 

“Ah, but what if we _want_ to, Geralt?” she says lightly, holding up her bottle. Geralt’s eyes track it. Jaskier thinks that inviting Yennefer was a _very_ good idea, actually, and is quite pleased with himself for managing it. 

“That’s a very good point,” he says. He wants to see Geralt satisfied for once; wants to know the other’s been given as much as he can take. Two rutting alphas . . . well, it still might not be enough, for all Jaskier knows, but it’d be a damn sight closer than he’s managed to get on his own. Although—“We might be a bit stupid, though. Rutbrain and all. Is that alright, Geralt?” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, his pheromones spiking sharply again and doing a damn better job of answering than his words are. Yennefer grins, pleased and predatory. 

“Two rutters just for you,” she says, Geralt’s pheromones spiking _again_ as she speaks. “That’ll satisfy you, won’t it?” 

“I don’t know,” Geralt says. He licks his lips. Yennefer’s grin widens. 

“Oh?” she says. “Then we’ll just have to see, I suppose.” 

“I believe in us, personally,” Jaskier says. Geralt’s eyes are still just a little too wide, and he’s just barely leaning towards them. He doesn’t smell like proper heat yet, but he’s clearly getting there. Jaskier wants to crawl into the nest with him and touch him everywhere he’ll let them. 

“May we come in, omega?” he asks. 

“Yes, alpha,” Geralt says roughly as he shifts back to make room, which is the first time he’s ever said that so easily and makes heat pool in Jaskier’s gut. Yes, inviting Yennefer was _definitely_ the right idea. Good call, self. 

He sets his potion on the nightstand and kicks off his boots, and Yennefer does the same and steps out of her slippers, and they both climb into the nest and settle in carefully. It’s a bit silly, actually, the three of them all more or less fully dressed and just _looking_ at each other, but Jaskier doesn’t mind, personally. 

“Your pheromones really do smell lovely,” he says. Geralt touches the scent glands in his neck, looking self-conscious again. Jaskier wonders how many times a partner’s complimented his heat pheromones. Probably not many, if he always takes that damn potion. 

“I’d bottle them if I could,” Yennefer says agreeingly, leaning forward on one hand and reaching out with the other to tuck a loose lock of hair back behind Geralt’s ear. His eyes flick between them, undecided. Jaskier decides to make it easy and scoots in closer to Yennefer, so they’re both facing Geralt and he can at least look at them both at the same time. 

“If you have any preferences you’d like to mention . . .” Jaskier says, trailing off meaningfully. He doesn’t really expect an answer and doesn’t really get one—Geralt just shrugs—but he has to at least ask. One of these days Geralt will be comfortable enough to answer questions like that, he tells himself, not for the first time. If he needs time, well, Jaskier’s willing to wait. “If you have anything you’d prefer _not_ to do you’d like to mention?” 

Geralt pauses for a moment, then shrugs again, slower this time. 

“Alright,” Jaskier says. “Just tell us if we do something you don’t like.” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says. Yennefer tilts her head. 

“Huh,” she says. 

“Can I touch you?” Jaskier asks. 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, which is a completely useless answer. His pheromones are a lot more helpful, though, because they downright _simmer_ at the question. Jaskier takes it as reason enough to slide his hand up the other’s thigh, and Geralt inhales. 

“You really do say that a lot, don’t you,” Yennefer muses, laying a finger along the side of her jaw as she watches the slide of Jaskier’s hand. “I never noticed before.” 

“Well, how much do the two of you actually _talk_?” Jaskier asks wryly, squeezing Geralt’s thigh, and she hums allowingly. 

“We don’t all make our livings off our mouths,” she drawls. 

“I just find it makes the overall experience more enjoyable, myself,” Jaskier says with a shrug of his own. It’s a lot quicker figuring out what drives someone wild if you just _ask_ them, and then you have a lot more time to do it in. Also, you never trip over any of those nasty little dislikes, either. “Can I touch _you_ , on that note?” 

“What?” She gives him a blank look. “What for?” 

“Well, we are currently in the same nest,” Jaskier says wryly. “It might come up.” 

“I don’t care,” Yennefer says dismissively, which is about as helpful as “I’m fine”. Jaskier is in bed with two of the most _ridiculous_ people he knows, he thinks. 

“If you say so,” he says, giving Geralt’s thigh one last squeeze and then letting go and leaning back. Geralt makes a very quiet sound as he does, not _quite_ shifting his weight forwards. Jaskier adores him. Madly, wildly, without restraint—he adores him. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” 

“It hasn’t been that long,” Geralt says, his eyes flickering. 

“Geralt, I missed you while you were in the _bath_ ,” Jaskier says frankly. “It’s been _plenty_ long.” 

“Am I going to have to listen to your sweet talk the whole time?” Yennefer snorts. 

“Yes,” Jaskier says immediately. 

“No,” Geralt says at the same time. 

“Well, that’s a clear answer,” Yennefer says dryly, then tugs her hair forward and turns her back on Jaskier. “Unbutton me. I don’t want this dress getting ruined when things get going.” 

“Why do I feel like you could do this yourself?” Jaskier says, but starts the process all the same. The buttons of the dress are tiny and difficult and attached to very delicate fabric, but he’s dealt with worse more than once. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Yennefer asks, sparing him a smirk over her shoulder. 

“You know, I’ll give you that one,” Jaskier allows, idly aware of Geralt’s attention as his hands make their way down the line of Yennefer’s spine. Specifically, of Geralt’s _pheromones_ , because they’ve spiked again. He’s not sure if that’s heat coming on or the experience of watching him take Yennefer’s very complicated dress apart, though. Speaking of . . . “. . . are you even wearing anything under this?” 

“Should I be?” Yennefer says, her smirk widening. 

Geralt’s pheromones _definitely_ spike at that. Jaskier always forgets how expressive they can be, given how subtle they usually are. Most of the time he has to have his nose practically in Geralt’s neck to pick up on anything, but with heat coming on and no potion in the way . . . 

Well, it’s much, much easier. 

He definitely likes that. 

“Silly me, I’d have thought you’d get cold,” Jaskier says as he undoes the last few buttons, and Yennefer shakes her hair out and then turns back around and drags off his shirt. She definitely understands the appeal of putting on a show. Unsurprisingly. 

“Mmm, why, are you?” she asks as she tosses his shirt out of the nest, still smirking. 

“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Jaskier says. She tugs meaningfully at his pants, and he shifts his weight to let her pull them off too. Not a patient alpha, is Yennefer of Vengerberg. She gives his knot a thoughtful look, and he resists the ridiculous urge to cover it. “I swear, if you say _one thing_ . . .” 

“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it,” Yennefer says with a sharp smile, peeling off her dress. Jaskier is absolutely certain she looks better doing it than he did being stripped, but that was inevitable so he doesn’t really worry about it. 

“Sure you wouldn’t,” he says, politely not giving _her_ knot any thoughtful looks, and then they both look at Geralt, who’s watching them very intently, even for Geralt. 

“Like what you see?” Yennefer asks lightly, smoothing a hand down her side and sitting just-so to display herself to her best. Jaskier just tries not to look too awkward by comparison. 

“Yes,” Geralt says roughly, which is _incredibly_ distracting and makes Jaskier forget about feeling awkward entirely. 

“Oh, well, good,” he says, clearing his throat. “Good to hear. How’re you feeling?” 

“Wet,” Geralt says as he squeezes his thighs together, which is not what Jaskier meant but he is at the same time not at _all_ complaining about hearing. 

“Is that the heat coming on, or do you just like watching?” he says, not really expecting much of an answer. Geralt’s eyes flicker downwards briefly. 

“And here I thought you _weren’t_ interested in watching,” Yennefer says, grinning widely. 

“Not strangers,” Geralt says, looking uncomfortable. Yennefer looks _thrilled_. 

“Come here, bard, I’m going to ravish you,” she says, reaching out to grab Jaskier’s arm. 

"I'm amenable to that," Jaskier says. Geralt puts a hand over his face, looking mortified, but doesn't take his eyes off them. It's not _quite_ what Jaskier was picturing when he invited Yennefer, but it's not exactly an imposition either. Especially not if Geralt likes the idea. 

Yennefer tilts her face up and pulls him down, and they kiss. Geralt makes a _noise_. 

Yennefer, unsurprisingly, is very good at kissing. Jaskier likes to think he's no slouch himself, though, and has every intention of giving at least as good as he gets. He cups her face in his hands and kisses her back thoroughly, putting his full attention into the process. Yennefer laughs, once, but wraps her arms around his waist and keeps kissing him. Geralt doesn’t say a word, but when Jaskier spares a glance his way to check on him he’s still watching them intently. 

And still looking mortified, which is godsdamn _adorable_. They’re only kissing. 

“You really do like it,” Jaskier observes, pleased, and Geralt grimaces guiltily. “No, don’t look like that, I like it too. Specifically I like you liking it, but also Yennefer is quite good at this kind of thing, surprise surprise.” 

“I am, yes,” Yennefer says easily, tossing her hair. Jaskier puts a hand high on her thigh, and she smirks at Geralt. “Care to come over?” 

“I’m fine,” Geralt says tightly. 

“Not really an answer, is it?” She tilts her head meaningfully. 

“You’re wearing too much, is what you are,” Jaskier says. “And going entirely untouched, which is just a _tragic_ waste.” 

“I don’t mind,” Geralt says, which he maybe really doesn’t but doesn’t convince Jaskier that they shouldn’t be touching him anyway. 

“How about we just come to _you_ ,” Yennefer says with a predatory smile, leaning forward. Geralt doesn’t say anything. 

“Not too much, is it?” Jaskier says before Yennefer can move in anyway. Geralt . . . hesitates, then shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. “It’s not.” 

“In that case, I think we’d both really like to touch you,” Jaskier says. “Probably at once, given our respective senses of patience. That alright?” 

“. . . it’s fine,” Geralt says after taking a slow breath, straightening up in his seat. Yennefer grins wickedly and _pounces_ , throwing herself right at him. Jaskier isn’t often the more subdued bedfellow, but in this case he might well be. 

Well, not compared to Geralt, obviously. But Geralt’s in a whole different league so far as “subdued” goes. 

“You two talk too much,” Yennefer says, and kisses Geralt as Jaskier moves over to sit beside them and runs a hand up Geralt’s back. 

“Are you really surprised by the idea that I’m talkative in bed?” he says wryly. 

“Well, we could always gag you,” she says musingly, stroking a hand through Geralt’s still-damp hair. Geralt leans into it, which is a very nice thing to see. 

“Creative, but let’s not,” Jaskier says. He likes being able to check in with his partners, personally. 

“No fun,” Yennefer says, smirking again. 

“Can’t put my mouth to good use with a gag in, can I?” Jaskier says with a shrug, then slips a hand under Geralt’s shirt just enough to stroke the small of his back. Geralt is wearing a frankly unnecessary amount of clothing right now, especially considering the fact they’re both already naked. “On that note, Geralt, would you mind terribly if I put my mouth to good use?” 

“I don’t mind,” Geralt says, a little stiffly. Jaskier wishes it were easier to tell when he actually doesn’t want a thing or when he wants a thing—he thinks—too much. The only thing he can do is trust what the other tells him, though. 

“Okay,” he says, and leans in and kisses him. Geralt makes a very quiet noise into it, and Jaskier noises back probably a bit too enthusiastically, but without any shame whatsoever about it. He wraps his arms around Geralt, and Geralt puts a hand on his arm. It’s not an embrace, but Jaskier doesn’t mind. Anyway, with Geralt it’s practically the same thing. 

They keep kissing. It’s very, very good. Jaskier thinks he could kiss Geralt for hours, if it came to it. Assuming Geralt wouldn’t mind, anyway. 

“Not to interrupt, but . . .” Yennefer says after a little while, scooting in closer and tugging Jaskier back. Geralt makes a protesting noise, which is almost enough to have Jaskier ignoring her and kissing him again, but he’s fairly certain she’s only stopping them because—”Share,” she says firmly, and leans up to kiss Geralt herself. He melts into it immediately, soft as butter. Jaskier watches them. It’s definitely a pretty sight. 

He strokes the small of Geralt’s back again, dragging his nails lightly, and Geralt presses into the contact and leans into the kiss. Yennefer cups his face in her hands and keeps kissing him, as an alpha with obviously excellent priorities. Jaskier empathizes. 

Yennefer breaks off the kiss, finally, and they’re both breathless and flushed and clearly need a moment. Jaskier decides not to show mercy and swoops in to kiss Geralt again, wet and messy and urgent. 

Geralt _moans_. 

It’s very nice. 

_“Oh,”_ Yennefer says in a pleased tone. Jaskier leans into Geralt and Geralt lets him push him down into the nest and put his hands all over him. He strokes up his sides and over his stomach, across his chest and up his neck, and he pushes up his shirt to get his hands underneath it, and he doesn’t stop kissing him for a moment of it. Yennefer hums, and runs a hand up his chest herself. “So impatient, you two.” 

“I think we’ve taken our time enough already, don’t you?” Jaskier says between kisses, and Geralt’s knees squeeze his sides and his hands grip his shoulders. He’s always so hesitant to embrace him. 

“Wasn’t aware there was such a rush,” Yennefer drawls. 

“Get inside me,” Geralt says roughly, squeezing Jaskier’s sides and shoulders again. 

“Which—” Jaskier starts, and Geralt cuts him off. 

“I don’t care,” he says, his voice tight. “Either of you. Both of you. Just _do_ it.” 

“Ngh,” Jaskier says, briefly glazing over at the “both of you”, and Yennefer smiles with all her teeth. 

“Promising,” she says. Geralt shoves Jaskier back and kicks out of his pants, not even taking the time to take his shirt off before rolling over and tilting his hips up meaningfully. Jaskier . . . well, he does what any respectable alpha would do and presses up against his back, stroking his half-hard cock to fullness and putting his teeth against the bare traces of his last bond bite. Geralt _moans_ , not particularly loudly but with a great deal of feeling. Yennefer shifts over to sit next to his head and strokes his hair, and Geralt pushes into the contact. 

There’s nothing greedy about it, but coming from Geralt . . . 

Well, anything Geralt pushes into is something Jaskier wants to see him get more of. 

“Are you ready?” he says, slipping his fingers down over Geralt’s hole and finding it as wet and willing as always; sliding a finger inside him to tease. Geralt growls, fisting his hands against the sheets. 

“ _In_ me,” he says, and Jaskier’s never turned him down yet. 

“Of course,” he says, dropping a kiss against the other’s bond bite and relishing the spike in his pheromones, then reclaiming his hand and pushing his cock into him instead. Geralt growls again, deeper and throatier, and Yennefer makes a pleased noise and ruffles his hair so it falls loose around his face. 

“Not bad, Geralt,” she says. 

“So pretty,” Jaskier praises, and snaps his hips into him. Geralt grunts, his hands fisting again. Jaskier sets an immediate and urgent rhythm, resisting the silly little urge to hum something to it, and Geralt makes barely any sound at all but keeps pushing back into his thrusts with the same urgency. He smells so sweet, so close to full heat, and Jaskier likes it _so_ much better than that miserable potion. He dealt with it, last time, but this is better. _So_ much better. 

“Oh, so you’re a sap,” Yennefer says. “Should’ve guessed.” 

“I am _honest_ ,” Jaskier corrects, nuzzling the back of Geralt’s neck and covering the backs of his hands with his own. Geralt lets out a hiss. Yennefer hums and picks up one of the potions off the nightstand, inspecting the bottle thoughtfully. 

“Do you want us to take them now, or wait until you’re in full heat?” she asks Geralt. “They hit pretty fast so it might be a bit much to start, buuut, well . . .” 

“I don’t care,” Geralt says. Jaskier is _sure_ that’s a lie. 

“How close to heat _are_ you?” he says, rolling his hips and making Geralt hiss again. “You smell so good. Is it always this sweet?” 

“It’s always the potion,” Geralt says. “So no.” 

“That is _such_ a waste,” Jaskier says. Geralt makes an impatient noise, pushing back into him, and Jaskier remembers to focus on what he’s doing, yes, but—“Really,” he says, snapping his hips in again, “you smell _so_ good, I love it. I could get used to this.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, but his voice cracks on Jaskier’s next thrust. Jaskier thrusts quicker, harder, and Geralt dissolves into low hisses and groans, barely loud enough to be heard. Yennefer listens alertly. 

“I’ve never heard you so noisy,” she says, sounding grudgingly impressed. 

“Hn,” Geralt says, fisting his hands again, and Jaskier kisses the back of his neck. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he says, a little more tenderly than Geralt would probably prefer. “I love it when he’s noisy.” 

“Shut up,” Geralt mutters at them. 

“Unlikely,” Yennefer says, stroking a hand through his hair again. “How loud does he get?” 

“Not enough,” Jaskier says. “But we’re working on it.” 

“Shut _up_ ,” Geralt repeats. Jaskier rocks his hips in deeper, and Geralt hisses roughly. It’s a lovely sound, as ever. 

“Mmm, speak up, dear, won’t you?” Jaskier says, lightly teasing. Yennefer laughs. Geralt growls. 

“Mouthy,” he says sourly. Jaskier draws a hand up his spine, not quite apologetic. If he shut up every time Geralt told him to, after all, he’d never speak. 

“I like it when you’re loud,” he tells him, thrusting deeper again. “I’m sure Yennefer does too.” 

“It’s certainly a novelty,” Yennefer says wryly, still stroking Geralt’s hair. He growls at them again, but it’s a breathy, cracked sound, and cracks worse on Jaskier’s next thrust. Jaskier _preens_. 

Geralt really is so damn lovely. 

“Do you need help?” Jaskier asks gently. “Is that it?” 

_“Ngh,”_ Geralt says, immediately hiding his face against the mattress. Jaskier isn’t quite sure how to take that as a response, so just strokes his spine again and keeps thrusting into him, keeping a steady, shallow rhythm that, admittedly, might be just a _bit_ too much of a tease. 

“Help?” Yennefer gives him a quizzical look. 

“To be loud,” Jaskier clarifies. He pushes his hand up over the back of Geralt’s neck and digs his nails in, and Geralt shudders. “Oh, so pretty. At least say my name, won’t you?” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasps into the sheets, and Jaskier grins delightedly. 

“You’re _wonderful_ , you know,” he says. “Say it again.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeats, his voice thin. Jaskier snaps his hips into him and slips a hand underneath him to get his fingers on his cock, and Geralt, without prompting— _“Jaskier!”_

Lovely. 

“Just like that,” Jaskier sighs, pressing his knot against the other’s rim and working his cock with his fingers. Geralt curses eloquently, burying his face in the mattress again. Yennefer hums consideringly, then fists a hand in his hair and tugs his head into her lap as she shifts over. Geralt goes, immediate and easy, and Jaskier purrs at the sight. He loves it when Geralt gets like that. 

“Eager, aren’t we,” Yennefer says approvingly, stroking his hair again. Geralt’s already mouthing at her knot. Jaskier watches closely, because he doesn’t see Geralt do that kind of thing very often—usually he just wants a knot inside him, and isn’t particularly interested in wasting them on anything else. Jaskier doesn’t mind, really, but it doesn’t make him like the change any less. 

“Please tell me you’re going to suck her off,” he says. Geralt growls, then wraps his mouth around Yennefer’s clit and swallows it down, which is obviously answer enough. She growls too, the sound low and approving and her hand fisting in his hair again. Geralt moans around her and Jaskier takes it as a cue to fuck into him faster, stroking his cock to the same rhythm. He wants to knot him very, very badly, but he wants to make him come even more badly than that. 

Well, those things don’t have to be mutually exclusive, of course. 

But he still knows which one he wants to do first, so he puts all his attention into fucking Geralt as the other works his mouth up and down Yennefer’s clit, and Geralt keeps moaning prettily around her and Yennefer keeps petting his hair in long, drawn-out strokes. 

“Oh, I always knew how good your mouth would be,” she sighs blissfully, tipping her head back and pushing her hips up. Geralt moans again. His face is flushed, and his hair’s a rumpled mess. Jaskier could admire that sight all damn _day_. “Don’t stop.” 

Geralt doesn’t. Jaskier encourages the behavior by adjusting the angle of his hips to fuck him just that little bit deeper, and Geralt _chokes_ and clutches up around his cock. Yennefer growls again, low and carrying. Jaskier purrs, and she laughs at him. 

“Are you _purring_?” she says scornfully. 

“You’re not deaf,” Jaskier says, ducking down to nuzzle the back of Geralt’s neck and earning some wonderful groaning for the gesture. “Oh, _Geralt_. I’m going to bite you while you’ve got our knots in you. Will you like that?” 

Geralt makes a hot, raspy sound, and Jaskier decides to take that as an affirmation and puts his teeth against the bond bite testingly. Geralt pushes back into them immediately, and Jaskier purrs again before sinking them in on the next snap of his hips. 

Geralt _whines_. 

“Oh,” Yennefer says, her eyebrows shooting up. Jaskier digs his teeth in tighter and Geralt starts shaking, his hands fumbling at Yennefer’s thighs for a moment before grabbing tight. He swallows her clit to the knot, and Jaskier pushes his own knot inside him. Geralt whines again, shaking even harder between them. He reaches back to grab Jaskier’s hip, fingers digging in roughly, trying to keep him inside him. Jaskier rolls his hips; Yennefer pushes hers up. 

Geralt comes between them, body clutching up tight and throat choking on the sounds Yennefer’s clit can’t quite muffle, and Jaskier _purrs_. 

“There you are,” he says soothingly, stroking the back of Geralt’s neck again. Geralt chokes on another moan. It doesn’t seem like a lot to Jaskier, being just the first round and all, but he’s also not the one getting spit-roasted right now, so . . . 

He _is_ this close to coming, mind. That’s definitely about to happen. 

He fucks his orgasm into Geralt’s body and Yennefer clearly has the same idea about his mouth, and Geralt moves between them and takes them both so damn _easily_ , like he’s exactly where he wants to be and doing exactly what he wants. Jaskier comes with a groan and Yennefer with a sigh, his knot inside Geralt and her hand fisted tight in his hair. It’s not going to have been enough, obviously, but it’s enough to make Geralt smell more and more like heat, and Jaskier _loves_ it. 

Seriously, fuck potions. Potions are worthless. 

“You know, I think now’s a good time,” Yennefer says, musing and breathless, and uncorks the potion Jaskier’d forgotten she was still holding. 

“Mm?” He looks at her distractedly, still shuddering with aftershocks, and she holds it out to him with a meaningful look. “What, really? I thought you said it’d be too much.” 

“Mmm, did I?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him with a mild expression. “What do you think, Geralt?” Geralt pulls back just enough to let her clit fall out of his come-soaked mouth, panting for breath, and immediately becomes the most fascinating thing in the room. 

“Take it,” he rasps hoarsely. 

. . . alright, maybe _some_ potions aren’t so bad, Jaskier thinks, accepting the bottle from Yennefer’s outstretched hand. 

“How fast does this hit?” he asks warily. Yennefer shrugs, already plucking the other bottle off the nightstand and tugging the cork out with her teeth, her other hand remaining occupied in Geralt’s hair. 

“No idea,” she says. “I just know it’s fast.” 

“Great,” Jaskier says. Yennefer swallows her potion, still stroking Geralt’s hair, and he nuzzles her half-softened clit. Jaskier . . . well, Geralt _said_ to take the damn thing, and Geralt always wants more than he’s been able to give him, whether he’s willing to admit it or not, so . . . 

Jaskier’s definitely done smarter things than swallow a potion from Yennefer of Vengerberg, mind, but to be fair, Jaskier does lots of stupid things. He tips back the potion and takes it like a shot, and Yennefer hums, toying with Geralt’s hair. 

“How’s his knot?” she asks lightly. “Bigger than mine?” 

“Hn,” Geralt says. Jaskier sets aside the potion bottle, giving Yennefer a dry look. She smirks at him. 

“Is it really the time for a dick-measuring contest?” he says. Yennefer laughs. 

“Haven’t met many male alphas who wouldn’t find the time,” she says. 

“Mine’s occupied,” Jaskier says, running a hand down Geralt’s side. 

“Bragging now?” Yennefer says, and Jaskier rolls his eyes. That was _not_ what he—

Ah. 

_“Oh,”_ Yennefer says, her own eyes widening suddenly as her pheromones unexpectedly spike. Jaskier blinks rapidly, a burning sensation overtaking him out of nowhere, coiling in his gut and simmering under his skin, and Yennefer laughs again, breathless. Geralt starts panting, digging his hands into the sheets. Jaskier pets the back of his neck almost absently, barely remembering to drag his nails. He is very, _very_ aware of that burning sensation. It’s . . . a lot, that sensation. 

Geralt smells _so good_. 

“Huh,” Jaskier says, vaguely aware that his knot’s softened inside Geralt, but his cock has absolutely _not_. 

Alright then, he thinks. Let’s see how this goes.


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever that potion of Yennefer’s does exactly, it makes her and Jaskier both reek of rut, and Geralt is still right between them, Jaskier’s knot in his ass and Yennefer’s right in his face. 

“Overwhelming” doesn’t even cover it. 

Geralt hisses, and Yennefer cards her fingers through his hair and Jaskier digs his nails into the back of his neck, and he _moans_. He wants them both inside him. He already wanted that, but he wants it _more_ , even though he just had it. It’s not enough. 

It’s not enough, so he wants too much, but they both smell like rut, so . . . 

“Well, good to know that was a good investment,” Yennefer says with clearly affected casualness, wrapping a hand around her clit and stroking it. Geralt watches, mesmerized by the slide of her hand and the thick, slick length of her. He opens his mouth again and Yennefer hums in pleasure, laying the head of her clit against his tongue. It tastes _perfect_ , and Geralt inhales raggedly, wrapping his lips around it to suck. 

“Dammit, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, burying his face in Geralt’s back and pulling his cock out of him. With his mouth full, Geralt can’t bite back the whine at the loss. 

“Mmm?” Yennefer hums again, obviously not paying attention. She fists a hand in Geralt’s hair and pushes down on his head, and he swallows her down as far as he can and wraps his fingers around the rest of her. He can’t deep-throat, but she’s making him want to learn. 

“Yennefer,” Jaskier says through gritted teeth. Geralt doesn’t like it. He wants Jaskier to say _his_ name. 

That’s probably the impending heat talking. 

“Relax,” Yennefer says. “Lean into it.” 

“It’s so _much_ ,” Jaskier says, sounding dizzy. Geralt wants him back inside him. His mouth is too occupied with Yennefer to ask for it, though. 

“Lean into it,” Yennefer repeats, tightening her grip in Geralt’s hair and pushing her hips up. He nearly chokes. “Oh, Geralt. Am I too much for you to take?” 

“Don’t make it sound like a competition,” Jaskier says. Geralt growls at both of them and tries to swallow Yennefer deeper with limited success. She _sighs_ , fucking up harder into his mouth. 

“If it is, I’m winning,” she says with a low laugh. Jaskier makes an exasperated noise, then puts his hands on Geralt’s hips. Geralt immediately presses into them. 

“Says who?” Jaskier says. He sounds distracted. Yennefer laughs again, then groans. Geralt rolls his tongue up against her and tilts his hips into Jaskier’s hands, trying to encourage him to just _do_ something. Anything. He knows he can only ask so much, but how is he supposed to hold himself back when Jaskier smells like _that_? 

“Who do you think?” Yennefer says. “Hurry up and fuck him before he has to beg for it. I don’t want him taking his mouth off me ‘til I come.” 

Geralt moans louder than he wants to let himself, and Jaskier’s fingers dig in on his hips. 

“Hell,” he says, and finally, _finally_ pushes back into him. Geralt moans again and then puts his full attention into sucking Yennefer off. She got Jaskier to use his damn knot already; she deserves the best he’s got. 

Jaskier thrusts, rougher than before and so close to perfect, and Geralt rocks his hips back to meet him and bobs his head and is—too much, definitely, he wants too much, but they both smell so _good_ and he just—he needs— 

Jaskier puts a hand on his cock and Yennefer pulls his hair and Geralt comes _embarrassingly_ quickly between them, barely able to focus past it. Yennefer doesn’t stop fucking his mouth and Jaskier, he fucks him even deeper, and _that’s_ too much, and exactly right, and Geralt is vaguely aware he’s making too much noise, but really could give less of a damn right now. In a minute, he’ll get himself under control in a minute, but right now he’s getting what he wants and it just feels so _good_. 

In a minute, he tells himself, and _moans_. 

“Noisy,” Yennefer says breathlessly, sounding delighted, and Jaskier bends down over him and mouths at the back of his neck. They’re going to come in him again. He _needs_ them to come in him again. He needs it, he needs it _now_ and if he doesn’t get it he’s going to lose his fucking _mind_. 

Yennefer yanks his hair again, Jaskier bares his teeth against his neck, and Geralt _shakes_. 

“Oh, you feel so good,” Jaskier says, sounding half-rapturous and dragging his nails against his skin. Geralt moves with him the best he can, but it’s hard to focus. He feels dizzy and hot and needy, _greedy_ , and he’s fairly certain his heat’s kicking into full gear. He can smell his own pheromones rising, but Jaskier’s and Yennefer’s are so much better and he can’t concentrate past them. 

If this were a real rut, he can’t help but think, he’d be getting mated right now. 

Yennefer drags him off her clit and comes all over his face as he fists her knot, and Jaskier fucks another orgasm into him, filling him up with his come and his knot all over again. Geralt _aches_ , panting for breath and holding onto both of them, gripping Yennefer’s clit and thigh and locking Jaskier’s knot as tight as he can. 

“Well, that was a good start,” Yennefer says, her tone light but her voice rough. Her come is still all over Geralt’s face, and she pushes a thumb through it, smearing it across the arch of his cheekbone with an admiring look. 

“Hell,” Jaskier rasps dazedly, rolling his hips so his knot presses in just right, and Geralt nearly comes again. “That hits so _fast_.” 

“Seems so,” Yennefer says musingly, putting a finger under Geralt’s chin and tilting his face up. She’s still knotting his fist, come dripping all over it, but she has a look on her face like she’s already thinking of the next thing she wants to do to him. 

He hopes she is. He hopes she’s thinking of nothing _but_ the next thing she wants to do to him. 

“Fast enough for you, Geralt?” she asks, tilting his face up just a little bit higher than feels comfortable. He swallows roughly. He doesn’t know how to answer. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re nowhere near done.” 

“We’re definitely not done,” Jaskier agrees. He puts a hand on the back of his neck. Geralt shudders. It takes so little to make him shudder these days, it feels like. 

It’s Jaskier’s fault, but Yennefer sure as hell isn’t helping. 

“Of course not,” Yennefer says smugly as she's wiping her come off his face and Jaskier’s digging his nails into the bond bite on his neck, and Geralt only half-hears her because, again, Jaskier is digging his nails into the bond bite on his neck. “We’re going to see you _satisfied_ , aren’t we?” 

Geralt grunts in reply, because he can’t quite figure out how to answer, and Yennefer gives him a wry look and tugs his hair. He has no idea why that feels so good, but it does. Jaskier flexes his fingers, his nails still digging in, and then drops a kiss between them. 

“We are,” he says, rolling his hips so his knot presses just-right inside Geralt and putting his other hand on his cock; Geralt bites back a groan. “We’re going to make you feel so good, Geralt. I want to see you come again.” 

He’s going to, obviously. Jaskier never has a hard time making him do that. Neither of them have ever had much trouble with that, in fact. Geralt’s used to being a lot more difficult than Jaskier and Yennefer make him feel. 

He _is_ a lot more difficult than Jaskier and Yennefer make him feel. But somehow . . . 

“That is always a lovely sight,” Yennefer says agreeably, twining her fingers through his hair, and Jaskier rubs his cock and rolls his hips just-right. Geralt buries his mouth in his arm before it can betray him. “Even when you hide your face like you’re always so keen to do.” 

“I like it when you don’t, though. Just for the record,” Jaskier says. Geralt would answer them, probably, but Jaskier’s knot is so fat inside him and Yennefer’s still pulling his hair, her own knot still filling up his fist, and it’s all he can do not to start pleading for more—to not ask for too much. What they’re giving him is enough. He’s fine with that. 

He is. 

Jaskier touches him until he comes, and it’s as easy as always, and Geralt is sure he makes too much noise during it. Jaskier and Yennefer both keep touching him, and it’s _so much_. 

Almost enough. 

He doesn’t know how to say that. How to ask for more without asking for too much; how to tell them how good this feels without demanding more than they want to give. 

Jaskier pulls out of him, his knot softened, and Geralt bites his arm before he can make the sound his throat wants to make. Jaskier’s come in him _twice_ , and he just came himself. It’s fine. He can wait. His heat’s not _that_ demanding. 

“Oh,” Jaskier says, sounding faintly surprised, and Geralt dearly, dearly wishes he’d taken the heat potion. His pheromones are just—not under control. At all. 

“Hm,” Yennefer says, putting her hands on Geralt’s shoulders and pushing him back until he lets go of her knot and sits up. He doesn’t know which of them to look at or what to say. 

They both still smell like rut. 

They smell so _good_. They smell like they’re going to push him down and _take_ him and he won’t even have to ask. They smell like—

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, and Geralt turns to look at him. Jaskier's eyes are wider than usual, and he’s leaning towards him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re _killing_ me.” 

“What?” Geralt says, not understanding and trying not to think more about the other’s cock than what he’s saying. He’s just sure it’d be much easier to listen if one of them were inside him, that’s all. 

“Is your heat always like this?” Jaskier says. 

“Focus, bard,” Yennefer says, then pulls Geralt's shirt off and puts her hands on his shoulders again and shoves. He goes with it, the way a better omega would, and ends up on his back in the nest with the other two leaning over him. “Priorities.” 

“Fair point,” Jaskier says, then moves down the mattress. Geralt moves to look after him, but Yennefer touches his face and makes him look at her instead, tilting it towards her. 

“Oh, Geralt,” she says in what, with Yennefer, almost passes for a tender tone. She looks like she’s going to _devour_ him, and his eyes flare and his pheromones spike sharply. She grins. “So eager, aren’t you. Isn’t that a change of pace.” 

“It’s really not,” Jaskier says, then hooks his hands around Geralt’s thighs and puts his mouth on his cock. Geralt chokes. 

“Is he always like this for you?” Yennefer asks. Jaskier hums, and Geralt bites his tongue so he can’t say the wrong thing. He wants to put his hands in Jaskier’s hair and keep him _right there_ but that’s the threat of too much again, too much too soon, so instead he fists them in the blankets and tries to breathe normally. “Hm.” 

Yennefer strokes his chest and Jaskier licks his cock and urges his thighs further apart so he can do the same to his hole and Geralt wants to grab onto both of them but can’t trust himself to. Yennefer tugs at his nipples. Jaskier pushes his tongue inside him. He chokes again, barely holding back something that would’ve been much too loud. 

It’s very hard to do, because Jaskier eats him out ruthless and well-practiced, and he knows all the places that make Geralt ache the most. Yennefer doesn’t make it any easier, because she knows all those places too, and when did either of them figure him out this well? When was he this _obvious_ , that they both know just how to touch him? 

He should’ve known better than to be this obvious. 

Jaskier works a couple fingers inside him and licks his cock again, and Yennefer trails her hands over his ribs and chest and neck and drags her nails just shy of too hard. Geralt can’t stop panting. He wants one of them inside him. He wants _both_ of them inside him, just like before or even more. He could take them both, he thinks. He’s already embarrassingly wet and receptive; he could do it. He _wants_ to do it. 

He doesn’t know how to ask for it, though. 

But he wants it. He wants them both at once, he wants them both inside him, he wants to be that stretched and well-fucked and _full_ , he wants—he wants—

“Fuck,” he says hoarsely, and Jaskier rolls his tongue up against his cock and Yennefer covers his pecs with her hands and he comes again like it’s nothing, like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. He chokes on a strangled cry and _shakes_ with it, arching against the bed. Neither of them stops touching him. They both keep going, Jaskier rocking his fingers inside him and sucking his cock and Yennefer cradling his face with one hand and dragging her nails across his chest with the other. It’s greedy, it’s more than he should take, but if they’re offering it . . . 

It’s fine if they’re offering it, he tells himself. It’s fine, it’s good, it’s _being_ good, letting them take what they want. That’s the right thing to do. 

It’s hard to think of it that way when he wants it so badly. 

Between Jaskier’s mouth and Yennefer’s hands, they make him come again. He moans much, much too loudly for it, and his thighs and hands tremble. 

“Move,” Yennefer says briskly, reaching down to shove Jaskier back, and Geralt stifles a distressed whine at the loss of him and she moves between his thighs and _shoves_ her clit into him. Geralt jerks against the bed, head falling back, and Yennefer fucks him immediately and brutally and without any patience while he’s still shaking through the aftershocks of orgasm. 

“Rude,” Jaskier huffs as Geralt clutches too-tight at Yennefer’s back, teeth clenched painfully against the noises that want to escape his mouth. It’s taking far too much effort. “Geralt. Relax.” 

He can’t. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, his voice much more tender than Yennefer’s. “Do you need help?” 

Geralt nods, barely. Yennefer fucks him harder, her clit filling him up perfectly, and he clenches his teeth tighter and—

“Give me your mouth,” Jaskier says, and Geralt’s mouth falls open without him even thinking about it, an easy reflex that goes right to the core of him. Jaskier cradles his face in his hands and puts his tongue on his thumb to hold his mouth open, and Geralt _tries_ not to choke and keen, but it’s so, so hard. He looks at Jaskier. Jaskier’s looking back at him, his expression much too soft for someone who’s supposed to be rutting. His cock’s hard, though, even going neglected. Geralt wants to touch it, taste it, take it inside him again. He wants to fucking _beg_. 

He just can’t. 

“Oh, that’s a pretty sight,” Yennefer says, breathless and heated and without missing a thrust. Geralt feels—too much, too much, too much. 

“He has trouble making noise,” Jaskier says. “It makes it easier.” 

“Do tell,” Yennefer muses, then _snaps_ her hips in. Geralt moans. Can’t _not_ moan. Jaskier makes an approving noise, and Yennefer smirks at him. “Hm. How loud does he get?” 

“Not very,” Jaskier says. “We’re working on it.” 

“Well, I imagine I can help with that,” Yennefer says. She braces her hands against the bed and adjusts the angle of her hips and her thrusts turn long and deep and _slow_. Geralt chokes again. He wants to grit his teeth, but Jaskier’s thumb is still on his tongue, holding his mouth open. He moans again, much louder than he means to, and Yennefer’s eyes light up with predatory delight. She thrusts deeper, ‘til her half-blown knot pops into and out of him, and his body tries desperately to lock it without his permission. She just keeps fucking him. 

He’s making noises he doesn’t want to be making, but the more of them he makes the harder Yennefer fucks him, and he—and he can’t—he’s not—

“Oh, I like that,” Jaskier says approvingly, and Geralt _keens_. Yennefer’s knot is swelling up and every time it pops in or out it’s a little bit bigger, knocks him a little bit more for a loop. He clutches at her back and she stays merciless inside him. She’s going to come in him, he thinks. She’s going to knot him. He’s already wet and messy with Jaskier, and Yennefer’s going to make him _filthy_. 

He wants that. He wants their come inside him, filling him up completely. He wants them both in as close as they can get and touching him. He wants—

Too much. 

So much. 

Yennefer thrusts one last time, all the way to the root, then starts grinding her still-swelling knot inside him, and he locks her as tight as he can. He can’t keep track of the noises he’s making anymore, except for “too many” and “too loud”. Jaskier’s hands are still cupping his face; his thumb is stroking his tongue. He looks like he wants to bite him, and Geralt wishes he would. 

Yennefer’s knot presses in all the right places, and Geralt comes with another keen, clutching at her back. He might be bruising her. He’s trying not to, but her clit feels so _good_. She comes too, with a low, dirty grunt, and she spills inside him just like he wanted, fills him up so he’s just as filthy with them as he’d hoped to be. 

Jaskier lets go of his mouth and drops a kiss against his forehead. Geralt drops his head back and gasps for breath. 

“How was that?” Yennefer says, her voice still low and dirty as she runs her hands up his sides and her eyes heavy and heated. 

“Fuck,” is the best Geralt can manage. Yennefer laughs. 

“Seems like a good start,” Jaskier says, stroking his hair back out of his face. Geralt grits his teeth against the whine that wants to escape them. A start. Jaskier said it was just a start. 

He wants him in him _now_. Yennefer’s already inside him and he _still_ wants it, wants more, wants them not to stop, wants—

Jaskier lays down next to him and slides a hand down his stomach to his cock and starts touching it, and Geralt has to grit his teeth even harder against the feeling. 

“Jaskier,” he says roughly, not sure what else to say. Yennefer huffs and gives a very _pointed_ roll of her hips. “Ah!” 

“Some gratitude,” she says. Jaskier rolls his eyes. 

“Yen,” Geralt manages, and she looks pleased. Jaskier keeps touching him, and Yennefer rolls her hips again. He thinks he might come again. It’s too soon, but . . . 

Jaskier rubs his cock and puts his mouth over one of his nipples and sucks. Yennefer pinches and tugs at the other and keeps grinding their hips together. Geralt holds onto both of them more tightly than he should, one hand in Jaskier’s hair and the other on Yennefer’s back. He feels greedy and selfish and so, _so_ good. 

“Oh, oh, _oh_ ,” he moans, practically choking on it, and they just keep touching him and touching him and _touching_ him. He’s shaking with it; can’t not. He’s definitely holding onto them too tightly. Neither of them complains, though, so he can’t help doing it. 

It doesn’t take long to come again at all. 

“Yen—Jaskier— _fuck_!” 

“There we go,” Yennefer says smugly, and Jaskier purrs against his oversensitive chest and strokes a hand back up his stomach. Geralt’s just trying to breathe as a boneless sprawl, with limited success, and every place they’re touching him feels like it’s _burning_. 

“Good?” Jaskier asks, lifting his head to nuzzle his jaw. Geralt bites his tongue, but manages to nod. “Good.” 

“You _still_ smell like your heat’s spiking,” Yennefer says, and Geralt shakes his head uselessly. “Is that just how it always smells?” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says roughly, putting an arm over his eyes. 

“So it’s not, then,” Jaskier says. He strokes his stomach again. Geralt still feels like he’s burning. It’s just—it’s so—

He just came. _Twice_. He doesn’t care if it’s heat, that’s fucking _stupid_. 

“You don’t do enough for yourself,” Jaskier says, and kisses him hungrily. Geralt forgets what he was thinking, arm falling away from his face, because it’s hard to think of anything else when Jaskier’s kissing him. Yennefer puts a hand on his cock and he jerks in surprise, grabbing onto her again. It’s _sensitive_. 

It feels good, though. 

He should tell her she doesn’t need to, but Jaskier’s kissing him like he never wants to stop and he can’t bring himself to break off from it. Yennefer strokes his cock and Jaskier kisses him, and he . . . and he lets them, even though he should be taking care of their ruts, potion-induced or not. This isn’t that. But . . . 

“Really. You make it so hard to spoil you,” Jaskier murmurs between kisses, running a hand over his chest. Geralt doesn’t have an answer for that and can’t concentrate enough to think of one. He clutches up around Yennefer’s knot and kisses Jaskier back, trying to make them both feel even the slightest bit of what he’s feeling, and Yennefer _growls_. 

“So _tight_ ,” she says approvingly. Geralt feels wild, burning up with heat and _need_ , and can’t do anything but clutch at her and kiss Jaskier. Anything else would be too complicated. 

He comes again and nearly bites Jaskier’s mouth, gasping for breath and control and finding neither. Jaskier purrs and kisses him again, deep and lingering, and Yennefer pulls her softened knot out of him with a low sigh. He manages not to whine, but only barely, and she puts her hands on the inside of his thighs and pushes them further apart. 

“Don’t you look well-fucked,” Yennefer says musingly, which is when Geralt realizes she’s just looking at his hole, holding his thighs apart with the lightest bit of pressure and doing nothing else. He feels an irrational heat in his face and isn’t sure what to think. “You’re a mess. Mmm, but it suits you.” 

“Of course it does,” Jaskier says, laying a hand on his chest. Geralt restrains himself from kissing him again, barely. “I’m betting he’s not half as messy as I want to get him, though.” 

“He could be a bit more,” Yennefer says allowingly. She’s still just _looking_ at him. Geralt’s pheromones have settled a bit, but he still feels overheated and overwhelmed just from the weight of her eyes. “I can think of a few more places that I’d like to come on him, for starters.” 

“Not a bad idea,” Jaskier muses, smoothing his hand down Geralt’s chest. Geralt wishes one of them were inside him, but can’t bring himself to ask for that again so soon. He can be patient, he tells himself. They’ll fuck him again soon enough. It won’t be long. “Geralt? What do you want next?” 

Fucked. Fucked, fucked, _fucked_ , filled up until he’s overflowing, until he’s as full as he can get, until—

“Doesn’t matter,” Geralt rasps, shaking his head. Jaskier makes a considering noise, not lifting the hand on his chest. Yennefer slides her own hands down his thighs, pushing them further apart. She keeps _looking_. 

“So wet,” she says, approving again. “You know, he _still_ smells like he wants it. We should give it to him.” 

“Sit up?” Jaskier suggests while Geralt’s still trying to recover from hearing that, and Geralt manages to. Jaskier sits up too and moves behind him, leaning against his back. Geralt can feel his breath against the bond bite, and his skin prickles. “We could do that.” 

“You’re saying that like _you_ don’t want it just as bad,” Yennefer says in amusement. 

“I do, obviously,” Jaskier huffs, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s stomach. “There’s such a thing as _manners_ , you know.” 

_“Manners!”_ She laughs at him, then puts her hands on Geralt’s hips and tugs. “Up.” Geralt moves up. There’s not really anything else he could do. “Bard—” 

“Yes, yes, obviously,” Jaskier grumbles, pressing up tighter against Geralt’s back. Geralt is very, very aware of all the places their bodies are touching. “Oh, you smell so good. _Do_ you want it?” 

What kind of question is that, Geralt thinks. 

“Yes,” he says, without even knowing what exactly Jaskier means. Jaskier hums against the back of his shoulder, a pleased little sound. 

“I want to touch you so badly,” he sighs. “And I’m already touching you, so you can imagine just how badly that is.” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says stiffly. The _only_ thing he wants right now is to be touched. Isn’t that obvious? 

“I really want to,” Jaskier says, dropping a hand down between Geralt’s thighs. Geralt hisses, and hisses louder when the other slips his fingers inside him. Yennefer chuckles, leaning in to stroke his face. 

“‘Fine’, hm?” she says. 

“As always,” Jaskier sighs, curling his fingers. He rubs his cock against the cleft of Geralt’s ass, and Geralt bites the inside of his cheek and instinctively spreads his thighs a little further apart. He wants it inside him. He wants it inside him _now_. “It’s not too much?” 

“It’s not,” Geralt says, his voice tight. That Jaskier even has to ask is . . . ridiculous, frankly. 

“Okay,” Jaskier says, slipping his fingers out of him and rubbing his cock against him again. He’s so close that Geralt’s about to _lose_ it. He reaches back and grabs the other's hip. He needs to touch him. Jaskier needs to touch _him_. 

"Hurry up," Geralt says, restless and _wanting_. 

"Spoiled," Jaskier says, pressing his mouth against the back of his shoulder with a smile. Geralt, like always, doesn't have an answer for that. Doesn't know how to come up with one. He squeezes Jaskier's hip, and Jaskier bites his shoulder and guides his cock in against his hole, slick and wet and _hot_. Geralt grits his teeth. 

He doesn't make a sound when Jaskier pushes in, but that's mostly because it knocks all the breath out of his lungs. Jaskier groans. Yennefer hums, running her hands up Geralt's sides, and even that simple touch is almost overwhelming. He tightens his grip on Jaskier's hip again and holds himself back from doing anything too demanding. He _wants_ to fuck himself on Jaskier's cock, ride him 'til they both come, 'til he falls apart, but . . . 

Too much. It's just too much. 

"Oh, you feel so good," Jaskier says breathlessly, rocking his hips up, and Geralt locks himself in place and bites the inside of his cheek again. "So good, Geralt. Come here, come on, let me touch you." 

"You're touching me," Geralt says. 

"Not enough," Jaskier says. 

"Aren't you two precious," Yennefer drawls, something speculative in her eyes. She trails her hands down Geralt's sides again, looking down his body as she does, watching Jaskier fuck up into him. He feels exposed. He feels like he wants her to never take her eyes off him. "You really do smell like you just want more, Geralt." 

"It's fine," Geralt manages. He still doesn't have a better reply. Yennefer hums, reaching up to trace her fingers along his hairline. 

"Is it, now," she says. It doesn't sound like a question. Geralt nods anyway, stiff and overwhelmed. "Jaskier. Quit moving and share." 

"How is this not sharing?" Jaskier says with a huffed laugh. 

"I want more," Yennefer says. She slides a hand up the inside of Geralt's thigh, then rubs her thumb against his wet and sensitive rim where Jaskier's stretching him open. The noise Geralt makes is . . . _not_ a noise he means to make. 

"Oh, _Geralt_ ," Jaskier sighs like he likes it, wrapping his arms around Geralt's stomach and squeezing him tight. Yennefer worms a finger in beside Jaskier's cock, and it's not that much more to take but it makes Geralt's heart pound in his chest all the same. Jaskier bites his shoulder again. That's not where Geralt wants him to bite him. 

"You'd like it if we shared," Yennefer says, not a question at all, and pushes in another finger. She isn't fucking him with them; she's _testing_ him, Geralt realizes. Seeing if his body can take more. 

It can, absolutely. 

Yennefer wraps her other hand around her clit and smiles sharply up at him and Jaskier rocks up into him one last time and between the two of them Geralt forgets to breathe for a moment. More than a moment, really. 

"Mmm, good," Yennefer says as Jaskier steadies himself, putting his hands on Geralt's hips. "Hold still." 

"Be careful," Jaskier says warningly. 

"Relax," Yennefer says. "You can smell him, can't you?" 

"That doesn't mean we don't have to be careful," Jaskier says, and she rolls her eyes. 

"Then stay still," she says, leaning in to press up against Geralt's body as she takes her fingers out of him and sets her hands on his hips, half over Jaskier’s. He bites his tongue before he can moan. Jaskier grips him tighter. "Look at me, Geralt." 

He looks at her. Has to. She's still wearing that sharp smile. 

The head of Yennefer's clit bumps against him, against _Jaskier_ , and Geralt grabs onto her arm. He wants to say something, but he can't catch his breath. Jaskier buries a grunt in his shoulder, and Yennefer keeps smiling at him. 

"Yen," Geralt manages, breathless and _wanting_ , and her smile widens as she pushes inside him. Jaskier gasps, and Geralt makes— _noises_. Can't not. Jaskier's cock and Yennefer's clit both push deeper inside him, both of them together, and his thighs _quake_. "Yen!" 

"Geralt," Yennefer rumbles, low and satisfied; Jaskier groans. The two of them are more than Geralt’s ever taken before, and he can’t stop shaking. It’s what he wanted, even though he couldn’t ask for it, and it occurs to him that Yennefer might _know_ it was what he wanted, that maybe she saw it in his mind, knew how he was thinking about it. He almost asks, but . . . 

Yennefer tugs at his hips and presses deeper into him, and Jaskier tightens his grip on him and does the same. Geralt has never felt so stretched and full in his _life_. 

“Move, Geralt,” Yennefer says coaxingly, and Geralt does. He lifts his hips, and lowers his hips, and _chokes_. Yennefer chuckles, breathless and rough. Jaskier groans again. 

“It’s too much,” Geralt manages hoarsely, still shaking. He wants it so _bad_. He wants it more than almost anything he’s ever wanted. 

Yennefer smirks at him. Maybe she’s seeing that in his mind. Maybe he’s just that fucking obvious. 

“Is it?” she says, a teasing note in her voice as Jaskier’s fingers curl against his hips and her own slip between them. Geralt looks down, and their hands are practically entwined against his skin. He doesn’t know why, but that _affects_ him. 

“We can do something else,” Jaskier says, his own voice raspy. 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, wishing he could say it better. Jaskier starts to speak again, but Geralt just rocks his hips down. The other two groan, but the noise he makes himself is a lot louder than that. 

“Oh, _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier gasps, putting his forehead against his spine. Geralt keeps moving, keeps fucking himself on the two of them, and they clutch roughly at his hips and thighs and he . . . and he . . . 

Fuck, it’s _so_ hard to stay quiet. He feels like he’s on fire, like he could just burn up into nothing, and Jaskier and Yennefer are both pressed so tight against him, both clinging to him, both so _close_ — 

“Too much,” Geralt croaks, not meaning to say it. He moves his hips faster. 

“You want more?” Jaskier asks carefully, and Geralt’s nodding helplessly before he even finishes the question. Jaskier kisses the back of his neck. Yennefer laughs. She cups his pecs in her hands, then puts her mouth against his chest and bites him. Jaskier puts a hand on his cock and strokes it. Geralt lets a sharp little keen slip out of his mouth, and Jaskier and Yennefer both _growl_. 

“Noisy,” Yennefer says. 

“Perfect,” Jaskier says. 

Geralt doesn’t say anything. Even if he wanted to, he’s having a hard enough time keeping back another keen without opening his mouth. Jaskier hooks a hand over his shoulder and pulls _down_ , and Geralt follows the pressure unthinkingly and chokes again as the other two slide in deeper. 

“Jaskier!” he blurts much too loudly, and Yennefer bites his chest again and Jaskier keeps stroking his cock and they both _move_ inside him. 

“You’re so tight,” Jaskier sighs, nuzzling his neck. “I can’t believe you can even fit us.” 

“I can,” Yennefer says smugly. Geralt grits his teeth. He wants one of them to kiss him; he wants to kiss one of them. 

He could. There’s nothing stopping him. He just can’t, for some reason. 

For . . . too many reasons. 

Yennefer strokes his thighs and Jaskier strokes his cock. He moves his hips, hissing roughly. He wants to move faster, take them deeper, but they’re so _big_. 

“Are you alright?” Jaskier asks, nuzzling him again. 

“Fine,” Geralt manages, though he’s a lot of things right now and “fine” isn’t really the first word that comes to mind. 

“Good. I want you to like it,” Jaskier says, his voice a low, alpha-edged rumble. Geralt shudders. Jaskier’s alpha voice is just so good, every time. 

He’s too used to it. Eventually Jaskier will leave, and then—

Not now, he reminds himself, forcing himself not to think about it. Jaskier isn’t leaving now, so now isn’t the time to think about it. Not yet. 

Jaskier doesn’t _want_ to leave now. He bit him, and he wants to mate him, and . . . 

Geralt concentrates on _now_ , bracing his knees against the bed—the nest—and moving his hips carefully. Jaskier and Yennefer hold themselves still, letting him do it. He wants to do it harder, wants to take them both as deep as he can, wants them fucking up to meet him. He _wants_. 

They both smell so good. 

“ _Do_ you?” Jaskier asks. “Like it, I mean.” 

“I like it,” Geralt mutters, not quite looking at either of them, and Jaskier grins widely against his shoulder. 

“I’m so glad,” he says reverently, nuzzling his neck again. “You look beautiful like this. Not to imply you don’t always look beautiful, of course, but this is even better than usual.” 

“Shut up,” Geralt says. 

“You’re taking two alphas at once,” Jaskier says. “I am literally incapable of shutting up about that.” 

Geralt growls at him. Jaskier presses his mouth against the bond bite, stroking his cock quicker, and Geralt’s breath hitches involuntarily. 

“You’re disgusting,” Yennefer says dryly. 

“Mmm, just appreciating what I have,” Jaskier hums, doing something _unfairly_ clever with his fingers. Geralt’s breath hitches again and he grabs the other’s wrist. Jaskier doesn’t stop touching him. “You really are so _tight_ , Geralt. And so, so wet.” 

“You both came in me,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. Of course he’s wet. And he’s in _heat_ , on top of that. 

“We did, didn’t we,” Jaskier purrs in obvious satisfaction. “Are you enjoying your present? We could do it again.” 

“Nn,” Geralt says. He wants them to do it again, obviously. He wants them to _knot_ him again. It might be too much, both of them at once, but he has yet to actually find “too much”, so . . . 

“Of course we’re doing it again,” Yennefer says. She leans into Geralt and rocks her hips _up_ , and he moans and Jaskier hisses. 

“You’re impatient,” Jaskier says. Yennefer laughs at him. 

“You’re slow,” she counters. She grips Geralt’s hips and rocks her own up harder, and he reflexively moves down to meet her and sees _stars_. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. “Oh, that’s more like it.” 

“Do you want more, Geralt?” Jaskier says, twisting his fingers in that unfairly clever way again and knocking the breath out of Geralt’s lungs. “You can have it.” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, gritting his teeth again. It’s too much. He doesn’t want to be too much. 

“I mean it,” Jaskier says, alpha slipping into his voice again. Geralt shudders even harder. “You can have whatever you want.” 

“Mn,” Geralt gets out, tightening his grip on Jaskier’s wrist and clutching at Yennefer’s arm. Too much. Too much. He doesn’t— 

“This is a present, Geralt. It’s all yours,” Jaskier says coaxingly, and then sinks sharp teeth into the bond bite. Geralt chokes on a yelp and Yennefer snaps her hips up, and Jaskier moves with her. They both sink in _deep_ , deep enough that he can feel their half-blown knots pressing against him. He makes a strangled noise, and Yennefer pushes up just—a little bit— _deeper_ — 

Her knot pops in, Jaskier’s fingers twist, and Geralt comes with a _keen_. His whole body starts shaking, and Yennefer and Jaskier both seem to take that as a cue to fuck him harder. He keens again because he can’t hold it in, and they both grip him tight and pull him down and he lets them, obviously, and they fill him up so _full_ and he just shakes harder. Yennefer fucks him to the root and then Jaskier’s knot pushes into him too, so they’re both in him as deep as they can get for one perfect, perfect moment, and then they both pull back and he—it’s not another keen, it’s too loud for that, but he doesn’t know what else to call it. 

_“Geralt,”_ Jaskier says with obvious excitement and delight, and Yennefer kisses and bites up his chest, and Geralt clutches desperately at both of them, feeling dizzy and _wild_. 

“Don’t stop,” he gasps out, and they don’t, they keep fucking him and he rocks down to meet them and they fill him up fucking perfectly, just right, exactly how he wants. “Oh, oh _fuck_ —!” 

“Just like that,” Jaskier says, clutching at his hips, and Geralt doesn’t know what he means but he can’t focus enough to figure it out. It doesn’t matter, anyway, all that matters is how good Jaskier and Yennefer both smell and feel, the heady scent of their combined ruts in his nose and the perfect drag of them inside his body. They feel so _good_ inside him. 

"Fuuuck," Geralt moans, and moans louder as their growing knots fill him up, and they both put their hands all over him. Everywhere they touch, he just wants them to touch him more. 

"Geralt," Jaskier says, his voice low and rough and subtly alpha-tinged. 

"Geralt," Yennefer says, nothing subtle about the alpha in her voice at all. Geralt makes desperate, needy sounds he doesn't mean to make, but can't get ahold of himself enough to stop. Not while they're still fucking him, not with both of them inside him—not Iike this. 

He needs to stop. He needs to. He's being too loud, making too much noise, sounding too demanding—

"You're so perfect," Jaskier purrs, and bites the bond bite again as he and Yennefer both _thrust_. 

Geralt comes again, and so hard that his vision nearly blacks out. He's lost count of how many times it's been, when usually he'd be obsessively doing the math in his head to make sure he wasn't asking for too much, and he can't stop his body from shaking or himself from clinging to the other two. They fuck him through it, fuck him to the root until their knots are too fat to do it anymore, and he chokes breathlessly as Jaskier's pushes into him one last time. 

"Don't you take us so well," Yennefer says admiringly, stroking Geralt's hair back off his face. Her clit's still in him, but not as deep as it could be. He can feel her knot pressing against his body with every thrust. 

He wants it inside him. He tugs urgently at her hip, needing it too badly to pretend otherwise, and she laughs raspily. 

"You asked for it," she says, and pushes her knot in slow, slow, slow. Geralt _shudders_. He can't breathe right. They're so big, bigger than anything he's ever taken, and he's going to feel this in the morning. He's going to feel this for _days_. 

"Yen," he manages thickly. She smirks up at him, wicked and smug. 

"Well?" she says. "How do you like your present?" 

"I like it," he gets out, still barely able to speak. She laughs. Jaskier kisses his neck. 

"Good," Jaskier says. 

"We're going to come in you again," Yennefer says, alpha in her voice again as she and Jaskier grind inside him. "Fill you up like you deserve. Isn't that thoughtful of us?" 

"Yes," Geralt says with another rough shudder. Yennefer's smirk widens. 

"Thank us properly, then," she says. He has no idea what she means, and he can't think clearly enough to figure it out. He does the only thing he can think to do, which is clutch up tight around them, and she leans up and kisses him. He melts into it. 

They come inside him, just like Yennefer promised, and their knots are so fucking big and he's so fucking _full_. Jaskier puts a hand on his stomach and strokes it, and Geralt stifles a whine. He's _so full_. He can't think about anything else. 

"Not bad," Yennefer says, musing and raspy. 

"Full," Geralt says dizzily, because he really _can't_ think about anything else. Yennefer strokes his sides and the backs of his thighs and Jaskier curls his fingers against his stomach. Geralt feels lightheaded. He can't focus. 

"You're so tight," Jaskier says near-reverently. "Feels so good inside you." 

"Hn," Geralt says, because he can't manage anything more complicated. Yennefer puts her hands on his ass and squeezes roughly, and a dull bolt of heat goes through his gut. He wants her to put her fingers inside him, never mind that he's already so stretched and full. He wants Jaskier to bite his neck and stroke the insides of his thighs. He wants—

Too much. Too much. His heats are always so greedy, and somehow this one's even greedier than usual. They're giving him everything he could want; how does he still want _more_? 

He has no idea, but he does. 

He doesn't ask, though. They pet him like they're trying to soothe something wild and he tries to keep his pheromones in check; tries to think about anything else. Easier said than done, with them both knotting him. 

Yennefer kisses him again, and Jaskier kisses the scent glands in his throat. He almost, _almost_ manages to calm down. Almost. 

It's so hard to calm down. 

Their knots soften, eventually, and they pull out of him. His thighs quake. He feels weak and overwhelmed and still wants more. 

Yennefer and Jaskier look at each other, and then Yennefer lays down and Jaskier gets out of the nest. Geralt looks after him reflexively, but then Yennefer's hands are on him, tugging him down too, and he ends up on his side beside her, feeling no less overwhelmed. It's the closest they've been outside of actual sex in . . . ever, maybe. 

She strokes his hair. He closes his eyes and tries to settle. 

Jaskier comes back with a damp rag from . . . somewhere, and cleans him up. Geralt lets him. It's something so few partners have done for him, and the ones that have were getting paid for it. Letting Jaskier do it feels vulnerable and raw, every time, but he lets him do it anyway. 

Jaskier kisses him, and he can't help but moan for it. Yennefer strokes his chest, and he struggles not to push into her hands. 

"Alright?" Jaskier says. Geralt wants their knots again, either or both, but doesn't say it. 

"Alright," he mutters. Jaskier kisses him again, and it's almost enough. Yennefer puts her mouth against his throat. It's so, so close, but . . . 

"Tell us if it's too much," Jaskier says, sliding a hand down his side. Geralt is not remotely concerned about that happening. 

"Is it too much?" Yennefer says, nuzzling his scent glands in a way that makes it even harder to keep his pheromones under control. He tries to think of other things, but it's not working very well. "Oh?" 

"Hn," Geralt says, gritting his teeth. 

"So _eager_ ," Yennefer rumbles, still nuzzling him. "You're so greedy in heat, Geralt. You should've invited me sooner." 

"So wonderfully spoiled," Jaskier purrs, stroking Geralt's back. Geralt doesn't want to answer either of them. 

"I'm fine," he says, because he _is_. He can wait. 

"We can do better than 'fine'," Jaskier says, tugging at his hip. Geralt moves with it and ends up on his back, Jaskier between his thighs. Yennefer shifts closer, curling around him and drawing her fingers through his hair. "Much better." 

"What?" Geralt says. Yennefer laughs. Jaskier winks at him, and Geralt scowls reflexively. 

"You'll figure it out," Jaskier says, then slides down the bed and drops his head between his thighs to kiss his cock. Geralt hisses in surprise, body jerking. Again? 

"You don't have to," he manages. 

"Oh, but I _want_ to," Jaskier says, hooking a hand around his thigh before dragging his tongue up his cock. Geralt grabs his head, hand fisting in his hair. Jaskier purrs up at him and winks at him again. Geralt . . . Geralt doesn't do anything, for a moment, and Jaskier seems to take that as permission and goes to fucking _town_. 

"You're insatiable," Yennefer says with clear pleasure. Geralt's too busy trying not to moan to say anything back, and Jaskier's mouth is occupied, so she just keeps talking to herself, running a hand up and down Geralt's chest as she speaks. "I've never seen you like this. How do you even satisfy your heats, hm?" 

He never has, really. Not fully. He's taken partners or hired whores or roughed it out alone, but it was never enough. Jaskier and Yennefer aren't even enough, and they're both drugged into _rut_. 

He doesn't tell her that, obviously. 

“As ever, an omega of few words,” Yennefer says wryly, flicking one of his nipples lightly. Geralt tightens the hand in Jaskier’s hair, and Jaskier eats him out with ruthless abandon. He wants to say the right thing, he wants to just say _something_ , but nothing is coming to him. He's moaning, though, because Jaskier is so, so good with his mouth. It's hard to concentrate on anything besides that, honestly, and he doesn't really want to anyway. 

"Jaskier," he manages, and Jaskier purrs. Yennefer kisses him. It's almost, _almost_ enough. 

He doesn't know how to feel about this. He's in heat in a room that belongs to Jaskier and a nest that Jaskier built, and he's _with_ Jaskier, and Yennefer's here, and they're both touching him almost as much as he wants. It's . . . a lot. 

It's _good_. It's very, very good. 

He should be doing more. He should. He should be doing _something_ , but it's all he _can_ do just to kiss Yennefer and hold onto Jaskier. They both smell so good, and feel so good, and . . . and . . . 

Fuck, he wants them so badly. Has he ever wanted anyone this badly? He must've, he's lived a long enough life, but it doesn't feel that way. 

It doesn't take much longer before he's coming with a long, drawn-out moan, because they make it so easy, and Jaskier works him through it and Yennefer keeps kissing him and he just shudders and shudders and feels like he’s falling apart, like he _could_ fall apart and have it be . . . easy, again. Easy, and not as dangerous as he’s always known it to be. 

Maybe even safe, if it’s here and now. 

Maybe. 

“You come so pretty, Geralt,” Jaskier says, licking his lips as he lifts his head. Geralt breaks off a kiss for once in his life and covers his eyes with his hand. That . . . that’s a sight. 

Look who’s fucking talking about “pretty”, he thinks. 

“I don’t think he believes you,” Yennefer says, dropping a kiss against the back of his hand. 

“He doesn’t, usually,” Jaskier says. “I figure eventually it’ll sink in, though.” 

Geralt opens his mouth to say—he’s not sure, just _something_ , but then Jaskier shifts his weight on the bed and he feels a familiar blunt pressure against his hole and _oh_ —

“Jaskier,” he chokes as the other pushes into him, and Jaskier hums an acknowledgement and _fucks_ him. Geralt grabs onto him reflexively, and Jaskier fucks him deeper for it. He gasps. Yennefer laughs. Jaskier looks pleased. 

“You know, it’s been quite some time since I’ve lived here, but there’s something about seeing you in my bed all the same,” Jaskier says musingly, rolling his hips. Geralt bites the inside of his cheek, eyes squeezing shut and thighs squeezing Jaskier’s sides. “Something I’m enjoying, for the record. In case there was any doubt.” 

“I’d say he wasn’t that foolish, but . . .” Yennefer trails off meaningfully. She strokes Geralt’s hair. He wants to grit his teeth, but he can’t stop making—noises. Just little, cracked things that keep escaping him over and over. 

“Does it feel good, Geralt?” Jaskier says, and Geralt nods helplessly, still clutching at him. “Good. You deserve it.” 

“I think we should just pass him back and forth ‘til he cries uncle,” Yennefer says musingly, and Geralt shudders. She doesn’t stop stroking his hair. 

“I think we’re going to wear out first,” Jaskier says wryly. “But I’m more than willing to try.” 

“You _both_ talk too much,” Geralt manages, forcing himself to crack his eyes open again. Jaskier smiles down at him and snaps his hips in deeper again, flushed and beautiful and so, so close. Geralt groans. 

“You’re worth talking about,” Jaskier says. Geralt’s face feels hot. He tightens his grip on him. 

“Shut up,” he grunts. Jaskier nuzzles his throat and Yennefer smooths his hair. 

“Mmm, unlikely,” Yennefer says. “Fuck him harder, bard, if he can still talk you’re half-assing it.” 

“Bossy,” Jaskier says, but he _does_ in fact fuck him harder, and Geralt groans again, pushing his head back into the bed and hissing when Jaskier mouths up his throat. He wraps a leg around the other’s waist to pull him in tighter, and Jaskier groans too, right against his ear. Geralt feels unspun, unmoored, un _made_. It’s so, so good. 

“Jaskier,” he says again. Jaskier puts a hand on his cock and he stifles a whine, but not particularly successfully. _“Jaskier!”_

“Right here,” Jaskier says in a terrible, tender voice with _alpha_ in it, and Geralt makes a noise that’s practically a mewl. He has no idea how Jaskier can get things like that out of him so easily. He has no idea how Jaskier can get things like that out of him at _all_. “Oh, aren’t you sweet. So good for me. Can you come again?” 

Geralt nods roughly, digging his fingers into Jaskier’s biceps, and Jaskier smiles again, wider this time. 

“Good,” he says. “We’re going to keep fucking you.” 

And they do. Jaskier fucks him until he knots and Yennefer makes Geralt come _on_ his knot, and keeps touching him until it goes down and Jaskier can pull out. She pushes him onto his stomach and he goes with it, already shuddering in anticipation, and when she pushes _in_ he nearly comes again, hands fisting tight in the blankets. Jaskier strokes his hair and puts his nails in the back of his neck and murmurs low praises and endless declarations of adoration that Geralt really wants to tell him to stop saying, but doesn’t. He wants Jaskier’s cock in his mouth, but he doesn’t want to give up the promise of them taking turns fucking him. 

He’s right not to, because when Yennefer’s done with him Jaskier takes another turn without waiting for his heat to spike again, and after _that_ Geralt starts losing track of which one of them’s inside him, which one’s touching him, how many times they’ve come and how many times _he’s_ come and—and—

One of them is fucking him; one of them is holding his head in their lap; both of them reek of rut. That’s what’s happening. They talk a little, he thinks—maybe even to him—but he isn’t hearing it anymore. He doesn’t care. He’s fucking _aching_ and he doesn’t want them to stop, ever. 

He _keens_. Jaskier says something. Yennefer laughs. The knot thrusting into Geralt rubs him just right and the hand in his hair strokes soothingly. He can’t stop making noise, can’t stop moving back into every thrust, can’t get enough, can’t, can’t, _can’t_. His heat’s overwhelming him and for once he doesn’t care, for once it’s alright to sink into it completely, for once it’s okay to just _feel_ it and not worry about what the alpha with him can or can’t do. Not as long as Jaskier and Yennefer keep smelling like rut, and keep taking turns with him so easily. 

It’s so much. He’s so wet, so _filthy_ , soaked in sweat and dripping with come and slick and still wanting more, still wanting them not to stop. 

They don’t stop. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this loud, or this greedy, or this overwhelmed. Jaskier keeps saying things and Yennefer keeps laughing and they both keep touching him, and when they don’t he just touches himself. It’s better when they do it, but he’s not patient enough to wait. 

One of them pushes his shoulder, and he ends up on his back again, blinking stupidly at the ceiling and panting for breath. Jaskier leans over him and strokes his hair back off his face, watching him intently. He’s a breathless mess, and Geralt feels the same. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, terrible and tender, and Geralt can _almost_ track what he’s saying, except neither of them are inside him and his heat is spiking and that’s all he wants, he wants them inside him, he wants them to come in him, he wants them to hold him down and knot him and—“Still good?”

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Geralt groans, and Jaskier takes his hand and kisses the clasp of his bracelet over the scent glands in his wrist, and Geralt _whines_. He wants it, he wants them, he wants so _much_. 

“You really are insatiable,” Yennefer says, taking his free hand and lacing her fingers through it, and Geralt would hate hearing that but she says it so _approvingly_ that he can’t. She squeezes his hand, and Jaskier kisses his scent glands again. Geralt whines again, louder, and lifts his hips beseechingly. Why aren’t they _in_ him? 

“You’re wonderful,” Jaskier says adoringly. “Here, come here.” 

He tugs at him again to reposition him and Geralt goes with it because he’d go with just about anything that would get them to touch him. He ends up on his side, face-to-face with Jaskier, and Yennefer lays down beside them and presses up against his back. 

“Alright?” Jaskier checks, putting a hand on his thigh and pulling it across his own. Geralt nods frantically, gripping his shoulders. 

“Please,” he says, and then they both fuck him again. He whines and moans and keens and somehow they feel even bigger than before, somehow it feels like they’re fucking him deeper, and they’re touching him _everywhere_. It’s all he can do to just hold on. 

It feels so good. 

It feels so, so good. 

“So pretty,” Jaskier says breathlessly before he kisses him, and Geralt kisses back the best he can and muffles a cry between their mouths when Jaskier puts his nails in the back of his neck. Yennefer kisses his shoulder and touches his cock, and he trembles roughly between them. It’s so much. It’s _so_ much. 

It’s perfect. 

It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s so good, it’s exactly what he wants, it’s so _good_. 

“Jaskier,” he chokes, scrabbling for a grip on the other for a moment, and Jaskier kisses him again, and between kisses: “Jaskier, Jaskier, _Jaskier_ —” 

“A little more gratitude, if you please?” Yennefer huffs, and strokes his cock harder. He cries out again. 

“Yen!” 

“ _That’s_ more like it.” 

“Jealous?” Jaskier hums smugly, and Yennefer scoffs at him. Geralt reaches back and cups the back of her neck, pulls her in closer, and holds on tightly to Jaskier with his other hand. 

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, and neither of them does. He might be about to come again, he thinks, though it’s hard to be sure with everything else he’s feeling right now, with all the places they’re touching him and just how _much_ it already is. He can’t stop panting; can’t stop the much, much too loud noises escaping his mouth. He feels like he could _scream_ , it’s so good. 

It’s _so_ good. 

“Please, please,” Geralt hears himself beg, and they both kiss him and fuck him and fill him up exactly the way he wants, and it’s so much, so good, so perfect, so many things—just so _much_. “Jaskier—Yennefer— _please_!” 

He comes. He comes so hard he sees godsdamn _stars_ , and he _wails_ with it. They fuck him through it, dragging it out, and he clings to them desperately because if he doesn’t he’s going to fall apart. He thinks he sobs, once. 

He’s dizzy. He’s dizzy, and heavy, and warm and full and being touched and fucked and kissed and . . . and . . . 

“Please,” he manages one last time, barely, and they both press in even closer and knot him so _tight_ and he can’t do a thing but shudder and tremble and _feel_ it. 

After that, he loses track of things again. He’s vaguely aware of the perfect pressure of their knots hot and hard inside him and their hands on his body, so that’s all he’s aware of. Anything else would be too much. 

Jaskier kisses his wrist again. Yennefer strokes his side. 

They lay together for a long, long time, it feels like, and Geralt just . . . drifts. He feels like he could just float away. 

Their knots soften, and they pull out of him. He whines at the loss, mostly on principle. Jaskier gets out of the nest, which _really_ makes him whine, and Yennefer keeps stroking his side until he’s drifting again, and he only half-stirs when Jaskier comes back with a damp cloth and cleans him up. He’s aware it’s happening, at least, and he watches Jaskier blurrily as he does it. 

The look on Jaskier’s face is so . . . _strange_. 

Soft. He thinks . . . it’s soft, he thinks. 

“I _still_ want to fuck him again,” Yennefer says. 

“Give him a minute,” Jaskier says. He pets Geralt’s hip. Geralt bites his lip, fingers curling against the blankets. “Geralt?” 

“You can fuck me again,” Geralt rasps, pushing his ass back against Yennefer’s clit. She growls, digging her fingers into his ribs. She’s hard again. He can feel it. 

That rut potion is _so_ much better than his heat one, he thinks. 

“Oh, you’re a gift, darling,” Jaskier says, leaning down to drop a kiss into his hair. Yennefer pushes inside him without hesitation, and he moans, clutching up around her as tight as he can. 

“Damn,” she grunts. “You picked an eager wife, bard.” 

“I picked the _perfect_ wife,” Jaskier hums. He lays down in the nest again and Geralt tugs him in closer to kiss, and Jaskier kisses him back, and keeps kissing him until Yennefer knots. Geralt doesn’t know if he could come again, but he feels so good that he doesn’t even care enough to try. 

“Good potion,” he murmurs, and Yennefer huffs out a laugh and strokes his side again. 

“Yes, I’ll have to keep that one on hand in future,” she says. 

“Please do,” Jaskier agrees, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s forehead, because Jaskier still wants to keep doing this, still hasn't changed his mind. Geralt lets his eyes close and Jaskier shifts up higher in the nest, until Geralt’s head is resting on his chest. His heat feels . . . he’s not sure how to describe how his heat feels. 

Quelled, maybe. Maybe this is what a quelled heat feels like. 

It’s very good, whatever it is. 

“So lovely,” Jaskier says, petting his hair. Geralt leans into it, and makes a soft, throaty noise. Jaskier makes a startled sound of pleasure in response. Geralt doesn’t know why. “Are you _purring_?” 

Oh. 

It’s been a long time since he purred. 

“Shut up,” Geralt mutters, and presses in tighter against him, wrapping an arm around his waist and just . . . _letting_ himself. 

“Believe me, this is not a complaint,” Jaskier says. He sounds _delighted_. Geralt makes a half-hearted grumbling sound, but can’t help letting it deteriorate into another purr almost immediately. Jaskier thrums with obvious joy and Yennefer snorts. 

“Saps,” she says. “Both of you.” 

“Hush, I can’t hear him over your envy,” Jaskier shoots back. Yennefer snorts again, but otherwise stays silent. Geralt feels a little self-conscious, but keeps purring anyway. It just feels so . . . _nice_. All of it. 

He can’t help purring for that, really, even if only a little. 

They lay there for a long time. Eventually Yennefer pulls out of him and gets out of the nest to clean herself up, but Geralt can’t bring himself to move as long as Jaskier’s still petting him and holding him close. It’s just too good to move away from that easily. He watches her, though, because she’s very beautiful and there’s no reason not to. 

“I need a bath,” Yennefer says, wrinkling her nose. “How long until your heat spikes again?” 

Geralt just shrugs, pushing into Jaskier’s hands. It’s already taken longer than usual. Is that normal, when it’s sated like this? He’s not sure. 

“Not helpful, Geralt,” she says. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never had a heat like this before.” 

“You mean without the potion?” Jaskier asks. 

“I mean this good,” Geralt says, shaking his head, and Jaskier makes a soft, pleased sound and drops a kiss into his hair. 

“I suppose the bath can wait,” Yennefer sighs, getting back into the nest. Good. Geralt likes her in here. He likes _both_ of them in here. It feels good. Right. 

He really has never had a heat like this. It’s . . . it’s a lot. 

“Jaskier,” he says after a long moment, glancing up at the other. Jaskier hums inquiringly, weaving his fingers through his hair. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Jaskier asks, looking puzzled. 

“This,” Geralt says, tightening his grip on the other. “It’s a nice gift.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier says, blinking, then lights up. “Oh! I’m so glad you like it. Yennefer really is doing an excellent job, I was definitely right to invite her.” 

“Humble, aren’t we,” Yennefer says dryly, shifting up close against Geralt’s back again. If his body had even a drop of tension left in it, it’d bleed out. 

“Well, if I didn’t brag you would’ve beaten me to it,” Jaskier says primly. 

“Shut up,” Geralt grumbles, pushing his face into the other’s shoulder. Jaskier nuzzles him and strokes the back of his neck, right over the bond bite. 

“Never,” he says fondly, and Geralt sighs. Well, he knows better than to expect Jaskier to shut up by now, doesn’t he. 

“You’re impossible,” he says. 

“Yes, but I’m good at gifts, aren’t I,” Jaskier says smugly, then strokes the back of his neck again. “And I take care of you, too.” 

“Mm.” Geralt presses his mouth against the other’s throat, and Jaskier hums contentedly. He clearly isn’t expecting an answer, but . . . “You do,” Geralt admits, and Jaskier lights up all over again. 

“Oh, _Geralt_ ,” he says, beaming. “You make me so happy.” 

Geralt . . . really doesn’t know what to do with that, honestly, so he just kisses him. It seems like the thing to do. Heat burns low in his gut as Jaskier kisses back, and Yennefer runs a hand up his side. 

“Mmm, already?” she says, sounding pleased. 

“Seems like it,” Jaskier says, sounding even more pleased. 

“Just touch me,” Geralt grunts, and they both press closer against him, and he . . . well, he has nothing to complain about there, does he. Yennefer loops her arms around his waist and Jaskier kisses him again, and he can’t help melting between their bodies as they wrap him up in themselves. 

It’s going to be a long heat, still, but for once he’s going to enjoy it.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


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